


Forever More

by SPowell



Series: Come Love Me Again series [2]
Category: Starsky and Hutch - Fandom
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Sweet Revenge, Sequel, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-03 15:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPowell/pseuds/SPowell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just when things seem to be settling down, a phone call and an unexpected visitor throw a wrench into the guys' relationship.</p><p>Disclaimer: Starsky and Hutch belong to William Blinn and Spelling-Goldberg Productions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever More

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to "Come Love Me Again"  
> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.

  


  
  


**Forever More  
**

**By Susannah Powell**

**Sequel to Come Love Me Again**

**  
**

_"Hallelujah"_

_I've heard there was a secret chord_

_That David played, and it pleased the Lord_

_But you don't really care for music, do you?_

_It goes like this_

_The fourth, the fifth_

_The minor fall, the major lift_

_The baffled king composing Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Your faith was strong but you needed proof_

_You saw her bathing on the roof_

_Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you_

_She tied you to a kitchen chair_

_She broke your throne, and she cut your hair_

_And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Baby I have been here before_

_I know this room, I've walked this floor_

_I used to live alone before I knew you._

_I've seen your flag on the marble arch_

_Love is not a victory march_

_It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_There was a time when you let me know_

_What's really going on below_

_But now you never show it to me, do you?_

_And remember when I moved in you_

_The holy dove was moving too_

_And every breath we drew was Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Maybe there’s a God above_

_But all I’ve ever learned from love_

_Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you_

_It’s not a cry you can hear at night_

_It’s not somebody who has seen the light_

_It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_You say I took the name in vain_

_I don't even know the name_

_But if I did, well really, what's it to you?_

_There's a blaze of light in every word_

_It doesn't matter which you heard_

_The holy or the broken Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_I did my best, it wasn't much_

_I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch_

_I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you_

_And even though it all went wrong_

_I'll stand before the Lord of Song_

_With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_

\------------------------

 

 

 

 

 

 

Huggy watched the tall, olive-skinned man as he entered and looked around the restaurant. He’d never seen him before, and he carried an air of displacement that heightened the entrepreneur’s curiosity. As the stranger turned and approached the bar, Huggy noted the deep, dark eyes; the silky black curls that capped the almost delicate, patrician head; the prominent nose; and lastly, the full lips as they opened to speak to him.

 

“May I order a drink?” the man inquired with a heavy accent that rolled off his tongue like chocolate, silk, and whiskey.

 

Huggy straightened. “What’s your pleasure?”

 

The man seemed to consider a moment, appearing a little confused. “I’m sorry…I am not so good at the English language.” Long, dark lashes blinked over eyes that Huggy could now see where a dark gray. His demeanor was hesitant.

 

“Sorry. What drink can I get you?”

 

The man smiled, showing even, white teeth. It made him appear younger and a tad endearing. Huggy shook his head, wondering why he was picking this guy apart. He’d always been a people watcher, but the description running in his head bordered on a romance novel. Shaking it off, he waited for the order.

 

“I would like a sweet wine, if you please, sir,” he told Huggy, slipping onto a bar stool. As Huggy complied, he snuck another glance at the man’s profile.

 

“You new around here?” He asked him, setting the wine glass on a napkin.

 

The man smiled again. “I am visiting from Spain. My name is Tomás Vega.” He extended a slim, fine-boned hand to shake Huggy’s, then took a sip of wine. “Very good,” he said, politely.

 

“I’m called Huggy Bear,” Huggy replied, smiling back. “Ever been to Bay City before? Are you visiting friends?” he asked as he wiped down the bar with the cloth he kept on his shoulder.

 

Tomás licked his lips. “I have never been to California. Only to New York City several years ago. I am here looking for a friend.” He drank his wine thoughtfully. The cook called to Huggy from the back, and he excused himself. By the time he returned, the stranger was gone.

 

Ooo

 

Hutch was in the front yard watering the flowers, watching Starsky chase three-year-old Peter around the yard. The child was giggling so hard, he’d gotten the hiccups, and after a while, Hutch suggested that Starsky take him inside for a drink before Lisa picked him up.

 

Swinging the child up onto his shoulders, Starsky headed for the house, and Hutch could feel himself smiling long after the two disappeared inside. Giving the lilies a final dousing, he turned off the hose and wound it up, his eyes surveying with pleasure the plethora of flowers growing in his small garden.

 

The sound of an engine coming up the secluded drive got his attention, and he jogged toward the house, calling for his partner to bring Peter out to his mother.

 

Lisa’s gold VW bug appeared around the corner, and came to a slow stop near the walkway. The driver’s door opened, and the slim brunette climbed out.

 

“Hey, there!” She greeted Hutch, looking a bit worn out and frazzled. Lisa was a police officer. She had worked with Starsky and Hutch for many years and had recently been widowed when her husband, another cop, had been killed in  a drug raid. Hutch and Starsky had alternately been watching Peter on the days when Lisa’s mother had to work, but this was the last day. Lisa had phoned earlier to tell them she had finally found a sitter she trusted and could afford to pay.

 

Peter came running out the front door, Starsky close behind.

 

“Mommy!” he cried, jumping into her arms.

 

“Hey, cowboy, did you have fun with Starsky today?” Hutch had gone in to work at the greenhouse and had only been home an hour.

 

“Yes, we played Batman and Robin!”

 

“Starsky’s favorite game,” Hutch laughed, earning him a playful nudge from his partner.

 

“Thanks again, guys, for watching Peter these last few weeks. You just don’t know how much I appreciate it. You saved my life.” Lisa’s eyes were huge and sincere.

 

“Are you kidding? You got me outta some hard work—Hutch’s been working me like a dog. And Peter and I have lots of fun, don’t we, kid?”

 

Peter nodded vigorously. “Me ‘n Hutch, too,” the little boy said, not wanting to leave his other friend out. Hutch chuckled and ruffled Peter’s hair. As much as he’d loved the little boy’s company, he thought he’d enjoyed watching his partner at play with him even more. Sometimes it seemed unfair that such a child-at-heart as his partner never had children of his own.

 

Lisa thanked them again, buckled Peter into the car, and headed down the winding drive.

 

Starsky turned to Hutch. “I’m gonna miss the little guy.”

 

Hutch raised a brow. “Even though he made you be Robin?”

 

“Today I got to be the Riddler,” Starsky said, winking. Linking his arm with Hutch’s, they headed into the house.

 

 

oooooo

 

If there was one good thing that had come out of recent events, Starsky reflected, it was Hutch’s newfound ease at performing musically in front of him. As he sat in the dim room half an hour after Peter had left, beer in hand, watching Hutch’s hands glide confidently over the piano keys as his right foot worked the pedals, he marveled at his partner’s musical talent. Whether it was guitar, piano, or song, Hutch accomplished it with grace and ease. Now he played and sang one of Starsky’s favorites, his voice strong yet gentle in the dusk. Starsky watched him through half-closed lids, love, pride, and desire filling his heart to overflowing.

 

 

_Outside the rain begins, and it may never end_  
So cry no more on the shore  
A dream will take us out to sea  
Forever more, forever more 

The doors to the deck were open, letting a cool evening breeze blow through the dining room and into the living area, the soft musk of damp leaves lingering in the air.

The lamps on each side of the couch cast soft light that lent an aura of coziness to the room. Starsky marveled at how easy Hutch made playing the piano look. His beautiful hands moved over the keys like they knew them intimately.

  
 _Close your eyes and dream_  
And you can be with me  
'Neath the waves through the caves of hours  
Long forgotten now  
We're all alone  
We're all alone 

Starsky leaned his head back, lost in his partner’s voice.

_Close the window_  
Calm the light  
And it will be alright  
No need to bother now  
Let it out  
Let it all begin  
Learn how to pretend 

_  
_

_Once a story's told_  
It can't help but grow old  
Roses do  
Lovers too  
So cast your seasons to the wind  
And hold me dear  
Oh, hold me dear 

Hutch closed his eyes, fingers moving by heart, the words pouring forth, filling the room.

_Close the window_  
Calm the light  
And it will be alright  
No need to bother now  
Let it out  
Let it all begin  
All's forgotten now  
We're all alone  
oh-oh, we're all alone 

_Close the window_  
Calm the light  
And it will be alright  
No need to bother now  
Let it out  
Let it all begin  
Owe it to the wind, my love 

_We’re all alone._

 

As the last note died down, and Hutch’s hands lifted from the keys, the two men’s eyes met over the back of the couch for a scant moment before the jangle of the phone jolted them back to reality. Starsky stood, stretching. “Beautiful,” he told Hutch with an affectionate smile, meaning both the song and the man who’d sung it, before picking up the receiver.

 

Hutch closed the song book on the piano and slid off the bench, admiring again the beautiful instrument that his parents had unexpectedly given him for a birthday gift. He hadn’t wanted to accept it, but Starsky had talked him into it.

“Let them show you they love you in the only way they can,” he had said gently. When Hutch had called his mother to thank her, she had seemed surprised, and he thought he’d heard real emotion in the perfunctory “I love you” at the end of their conversation.

 

Moving into the kitchen, he began preparing dinner. He could hear the deep murmur of his partner’s voice from the living room, and he wondered who had called. He was alive with the feeling of having sung for Starsky, something he had formerly been terrified to do. Ever since he’d summoned up the courage to sing to him and thirty guests at Starsky and Joanie’s rehearsal dinner, doing it again had never seemed as insurmountable as before. And each time became easier, until now he could play and sing to his and Starsky’s hearts’ content. The undeniable pleasure it brought his partner warmed Hutch’s heart each and every time.

 

He walked out on the deck and put the hamburgers on the grill, his thoughts traveling again to how Starsky had looked playing with little Peter over the past few weeks. Hutch knew that he, himself, had a way with children, but with Starsky, it was more. When his partner played with a child, it was as if he was a child again himself. The carefree attitude he assumed and the enjoyment he obtained were palpable, and a joy to observe. Hutch flipped the burgers, wondering if perhaps he and Starsky should offer to have Peter over every so often…to be ‘big brothers’ to him now that he was fatherless.

 

When Starsky joined him in the kitchen fifteen minutes later, the hamburgers Hutch had grilled were ready, and he was arranging the fixings on the island. Starsky seemed thoughtful and a bit edgy.

 

“Problem?” Hutch asked, glancing at him.

 

Starsky shook his head. “Wanna eat outside?” he asked.

 

“Sure,” Hutch agreed. They picked up the plates and carried them out to the deck, placing them on the patio table. Hutch went back inside for their beers, and then slid the doors shut to keep the bugs out of the house. He crossed to the portable radio that they kept on the railing and turned it on, soft classical music joining the soft trills of night insects. He took a seat. Starsky had already dug into his burger and was making appreciative noises that Hutch took to mean his culinary efforts were a success. He smiled and bit into his own, the two eating in companionable silence, Hutch worn out from his day’s work in their landscaping business, and Starsky from chasing little Peter around all day. Unlike in its initial period, their company now had workers to do the manual labor, but an unexpectedly large job had required the partners to join in the effort the past several weeks in order to get the project finished on schedule.

 

Hutch was particularly proud of Starsky’s designs for the corporation’s sprawling lawns, and he knew his partner had been outright shocked at the pleased reception they had received from the building committee. He was so under-appreciative of his own talents. Hutch had been telling him from the beginning that his designs were special, but Starsky had modestly claimed he was just blinded by love.

 

As Hutch ate, his mind wandered to the variation of plant life they were growing in the greenhouse, almost missing the pensive expression on his companion’s face.

 

“Are you sure something isn’t wrong, Starsk?” he asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “You seem distracted.”

 

Starsky looked over at him, surprised. “Did I ignore you? I didn’t realize you’d said anything.”

 

“I didn’t. I just noticed you were sitting there frowning.”

 

“Oh. I was just thinkin’.” He pushed his plate away.

 

Hutch chuckled. “That was obvious. What were you thinking  _about_?”

 

Starsky glanced at him and then away.

 

“Who called?” Hutch asked, settling his elbow on the table and his cheek on his hand.

 

Starsky swallowed, looking out into the darkness. “Joanie.”

 

Hutch’s eyebrow went up. “Really? I’m surprised. What did she say?” Starsky had not heard from the woman he had practically left at the altar since the night he’d broken things off.

 

“She wanted to talk.”

 

“And did you? Talk?” Hutch watched his partner’s face carefully.

 

“Yeah. Sort of. She wants to see me.” Starsky didn’t take his eyes off the dark woods that circled their house. Hutch leaned back and felt his gaze wandering in the same direction. They were silent for a long time. Finally, Hutch rose and started clearing the table. After a beat, Starsky joined him.

 

When they’d finished with their few dishes, they headed by silent and mutual agreement down the deck steps to the lawn chairs out back.

 

Star-gazing was a nightly ritual for them, giving the two an opportunity to unwind from a hectic day and just be together. Rarely a night went by that they didn’t sit side by side in the backyard, beers at their fingertips as they leaned back in comfortable lawn chairs, staring at the twinkling blanket of stars in the dark expanse of night sky. In fact, they’d invested in the most comfortable reclining lawn chairs they could find.

 

Starsky hadn’t said another thing about their earlier conversation, and Hutch was loath to bring it up. He knew his partner carried a lot of guilt over the four months they’d spent apart---one when Starsky and his ex-girlfriend, Joanie, had been virtually inseparable, and the other three when Hutch had been in Europe, tending to his broken heart. Hutch had assured him repeatedly that none of it had been his fault—he’d been suffering from amnesia, for god’s sake—but Starsky still carried the guilt. And it wasn’t just for what he’d unintentionally put Hutch through. It was also for what he’d done to Joanie, who had been an unknowing victim of circumstance. All she’d wanted was to reestablish the romantic relationship she and Starsky had had years before; she’d had no idea that he’d been in a committed relationship with Hutch.

 

Hutch was thoroughly sorry that Joanie, a very sweet person, had been put through all of that. He had been ready to give Starsky up if it had been what he’d wanted, but Starsky had regained his memory and broken things off with Joanie the night before their intended wedding. Returning to California from New York, he’d had to wait for Hutch to end his sabbatical and come home, not knowing where he could contact him. Hutch knew his partner had suffered during that time, in many ways. Now he wondered what Joanie had to say about it all.

 

As if Starsky had heard his thoughts, he spoke. This was often the way with them: accepting prolonged silences and picking up where they’d left off without thought or comment.

 

“When I broke things off with her, she didn’t want to hear anything I had to say. Now it seems she does.”

 

“Okay,” Hutch said simply, staring at the sky.

 

“I owe it to her, Hutch.”

 

“Okay, Starsky, I understand. You don’t have to feel guilty about it. So she wants to talk in person?”

 

Sometimes Starsky wished his partner was a little less understanding and cooperative. He almost wanted Hutch to yell at him. Maybe strike him. He just felt so low. The emotional pain he’d caused this man during those months filled him with a self-loathing that had no outlet.

 

After all that had happened, why should Hutch feel he should let his lover see the woman he’d almost lost him to?

 

“Why aren’t you mad?” Starsky asked a little sharply.

 

Hutch sighed. “She deserves to hear it.”

 

“Fuck, Hutch. You’re just too damned good to be true,” Starsky muttered irritably.

 

Hutch rounded on him, almost turning his seat over. “You think I don’t care?” he asked, incredulously. “Just because I can understand it, and I’m not taking it out on you? Well, I damn well care, buddy. But it’s not Joanie’s fault, and things were left unsaid, from what you’ve told me.”

 

Starsky was silent.

 

After a time, Hutch said bitterly, “Fine. Don’t see her---fuck Joanie. She can go to hell for all I care.”

 

Surprised, Starsky turned and looked at his partner. His profile was angry as he glared up at the moon.

 

“You think I want you to see her?” Hutch asked the white crescent hanging over them in the dark, velvety sky. “You think I don’t worry you’ll fall into her arms again? Choose the conventional way? Wife, children, dog…”

 

“Hutch…”

 

“Shut up, Starsky, and let me finish. I’m not a martyr. I  _don’t_ want you to see her. I really wish she’d just disappear off the face of the earth, and we’d never have to deal with this. But I  _would_ like it dealt with and put away.”

 

Starsky got up and moved over to sit on Hutch’s chair, nestling between his long legs. He leaned back, his head resting beneath his partner’s chin.

 

“I don’t want to see her,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to dredge it all up again. I don’t want to think about how I hurt her and hurt you.”

 

Just Starsky’s nearness worked to calm Hutch’s anger. He wrapped his arms around his partner and pressed his lips into his wild curls. “I’d go with you, if I could,” he told him, smoothing down a springy ringlet that kept trying to make its way into his mouth. Starsky chuckled softly.

 

“Somehow I don’t think that would help.”

 

“Did she ask you to fly out there?” Hutch’s arms unconsciously tightened their grip.

 

“She offered to come out here. But where’s she gonna stay? Not with us. And I’ve got Ma and Nick out there…plus, if I go there, I can control when I come back, ya know?”

 

“Yeah,” Hutch said quietly. “When?”

 

“I don’t know. I haven’t said yet. I tried to talk it out on the phone, but she really wants to see me face to face.”

 

Hutch leaned his head back and tugged on Starsky so that he moved lower in the chair and rested his head on his chest. They both stared up at the stars and moon. “Only one reason for that,” Hutch finally said, his voice flat.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“She wants you to change your mind.”

 

Starsky sat up abruptly. “Well, I’m not gonna!”

His face was so determinedly serious that Hutch had to laugh.

 

“Glad to hear it.” He pulled Starsky down for a kiss, his lips brushing his in a gentle sweep. Starsky responded, mouth moving softly, tongue peeking out to taste Hutch’s bottom lip.

 

Starsky pulled up. “You really think that’s why she wants to do this face-to-face?”

 

Hutch shrugged. “Why else? If she just wants more of an explanation, why couldn’t you do that on the phone?”

 

Starsky thought about it. “I don’t know if I want to see her, then.” He felt Hutch’s body stiffen beneath him.

“What?”

 

Hutch didn’t answer, just stared into his eyes, his expression unreadable.

 

“Aw, come on, Hutch…” It didn’t take him long to figure out what was going on in his blonde’s mind. “You’re afraid that  _I’m afraid_  that I’ll want to give in. Right?”

 

Hutch remained silent.

 

“Well, you’re wrong. I just don’t see why I have to fly all the way to New York to convince her that I don’t want to be with her. If I’d wanted to be with her, I would’ve married her. It was all arranged.” He leaned back down and softly kissed Hutch’s neck in the sensitive area just beneath his jaw. Hutch nuzzled into him, tightening his arms around him again. “I guess, being two men, we’re always gonna have these insecurities. Always gonna think the other one’s gonna want to leave for a woman.” Starsky rubbed his nose against Hutch’s neck.

 

“I guess,” Hutch admitted.

 

Starsky kissed him, deeply, his tongue caressing the inside of his mouth, then moved downward in the chair, unzipping his pants with one quick flick of his wrist. Hutch sucked in a breath when he felt his partner gently tug his stiffening shaft out into the night air and then moaned deeply when Starsky’s hot, wet mouth closed over it. He was lost in sensation for long moments as Starsky worked his magic. When he’d spilled himself into the eager mouth and lay panting on the lounge chair, his partner neatly tucked him back in and moved back to his previous position in the chair.

 

“I think I just had a religious experience,” Hutch breathed.

 

“Amen,” Starsky chuckled, and Hutch ruffled his hair affectionately.

 

“You’re getting awfully good at that, buddy. Kinda scares me sometimes.” He tugged at Starsky’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go to bed, and I’ll reciprocate.”

 

Starsky didn’t need any convincing.

 

ooo

“I’m not gonna go see Joanie, Hutch.” Starsky said from where he nestled, sated, in his partner’s warm embrace a little later.

 

“Nothing has to be decided now,” Hutch answered, his finger making swirls on Starsky’s arm.

 

Starsky sighed. “I just wish it all hadn’t happened.”

 

“ _If wishes were horses, beggars would ride_ ,” Hutch quoted.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Nevermind.” Hutch snuggled closer. “Go to sleep.”

 

As Hutch lay in the darkness, listening to Starsky’s breathing even out and feeling him relax in his arms, he couldn’t help but worry about exactly what Starsky had suspected-- that the reason Starsky was so dead-set against seeing Joanie in person was that he was afraid her argument would be a good one. He didn’t want to be that insecure, but after witnessing what he had when his partner had lost his memory, he couldn’t help it. He’d listened to Starsky talk about Joanie, he’d heard them making love in his room, and he’d attended the rehearsal for their wedding. The pain he had endured during that time had left an indelible mark on him---more than he would ever admit to his partner. Starsky was carrying enough guilt over it.

 

Hutch had fled to Europe and trekked the countryside, going wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He’d seen many sites and met a lot of interesting people, but the loneliness was always there. When he’d returned home, he had been floored to find his partner there…memory fully returned and wedding cancelled. Not to mention frantic over having waited so long, not knowing if Hutch would return.

 

“Hutch?” Starsky’s voice came unexpectedly out of the darkness, making his partner jerk in surprise.

 

“I thought you were asleep.”

 

“I sorta was, but then I wasn’t. I dunno. There’s something I’ve been wantin’ to ask you.”

 

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Hutch’s voice was quiet.

 

“What were you plannin’ on doing when you got back from Europe? I mean, if I had been married like you thought and livin’ in New York.”

 

Hutch took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Honestly?”

 

“Of course!” Starsky said, rising up so he could see him in the half-light and gauge his sincerity, just in case he decided to fudge the truth a bit.

 

“Well…” Hutch didn’t really want to get into this. It was only going to make things worse. But what choice did he have? He couldn’t lie to Starsky.

 

“I just couldn’t see staying here, Starsk, where we put so much of ourselves into this house and our business. I thought I’d sell both and, well, I don’t know…”

 

Starsky’s dark blue eyes bore into him, the moonlight from the window casting eerie shadows on his face. “Where would you have gone?”

 

Hutch shrugged. “Away from here.”

 

“You must’ve had some idea.”

 

“Maybe back to Europe. Or Arizona. I like the desert.  I didn’t have any concrete plans.”

 

Starsky lay back down, his body tense.

 

“I knew it wouldn’t help to tell you, Starsk. But what would you have done in my place? I couldn’t stand the thought of being here without you. It hurt too much.” Hutch’s voice cracked, and Starsky pulled him to him.

 

“Hey, now, shhh…it’s okay. I’m here and not going anywhere. Ever.” He placed a kiss on the soft skin over his partner’s ribcage. “I’m sorry I asked and brought it all up.”

 

After a few minutes Hutch said, “Maybe it was Fate getting back at me for that trick I played on you a few years ago…acting like I had amnesia.”

 

“Aw, hogwash.” Starsky leaned up and kissed him on the mouth. “Go to sleep. I’ll stop worrying and feeling guilty if you will.”

 

Hutch smiled gently. “It’s a deal.”

 

ooooOOOOOoooo

 

The following day after work, Hutch and Starsky stopped at a Mexican restaurant they both liked and had a leisurely meal. It was their habit to eat out once a week, giving themselves a night off from dinner duty. When they got home, Starsky took his shower, pulled on Hutch’s favorite pair of delectably small shorts, and headed to the backyard with his beer while his partner took his turn cleaning off the day’s grime.

 

Starsky sat watching the sun fade beneath the tips of the trees lining their property and thought about how blissfully happy he was. How thoroughly fulfilled both at home and at work. For so many years, protecting the public had been his focus and his life; it surprised him what contentment he drew from tapping into his creative side. And Hutch was inevitably there, encouraging, prodding, and applauding. Starsky had always been such a macho man’s-man. It had taken his friendship with Hutch to show him a softer, more introspective side. Over the years he had developed interests in both photography and drawing that had turned into so much more for him over the past twelve months or so. These hobbies had been life-lines for him during his period of recovery after the hit. They fed his sense of worth during a time when all that he had defined himself with was in ruins.

 

 

 

Fresh out of the shower and dressed only in his boxers, Hutch pulled a beer bottle out of the refrigerator and headed for the sliding doors. He could see the top of Starsky’s head against the lawn chair out back, and an undeniable eagerness to be with him tugged at Hutch to hurry. He marveled at how, after all these years, he still yearned to be with his partner almost every minute of the day.

 

The phone rang just as his hand touched the door handle, and he circled back to the living room.

 

“Hello,” he answered, phone shrugged up to his ear as he wrestled with the bottle opener.

 

There was a rather long pause, and then, “Hutch? This is Joanie.”

 

Hutch froze for a moment and then forced himself to relax. “Hello, Joanie. How are you?”

 

“I’m doing alright. This is a little awkward…I haven’t spoken to you since…and I, well, I didn’t know…” she took a breath and let it out.

 

“It’s okay,” Hutch said gently. “I know what you’re trying to say.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me, Hutch? Why didn’t you say something? There we were in your house…”

 

Hutch sat down on a stool by the kitchen island. “I just couldn’t. He didn’t remember and…I just couldn’t,” he repeated. “Do you want to talk to him?”

 

“I just really want to see him, Hutch. I wouldn’t talk to him before—when he called off the wedding—and I just feel like there’s a lot of unfinished business. I’m seeing a counselor…I’ve been pretty angry. She says I should face all this so I can move on. Please convince him to see me. I have to put this behind me.”

 

“I’ll talk to him, Joanie,” Hutch promised, feeling torn.

 

“Thank you. Goodbye.” She hung up, and Hutch stood staring into space a moment before finally placing the phone on its cradle and heading outside.

 

“What took ya so long?” Starsky asked from his chair. “I almost fell asleep.”

 

“Phone call,” Hutch replied, settling into his seat, beer cradled on his lap. The sky was teeming with stars. One shot across the sky, catching their attention for the moment.

 

“Who called?” Starsky wanted to know after they’d settled again.

 

Hutch looked over at him, and Starsky flinched.

 

“What’d she say?”

 

“She wanted me to ask you to please see her. Her counselor thinks it’s a good idea to face this head-on so she can put it behind her.”

 

“Jees, I drove her to a shrink?” Starsky exclaimed, guilt taking on new and larger proportions.

 

“A counselor. It’s good that she’s seeing one; it’ll help. And I do think you should do as she asks and go to New York.” He was quiet a moment.

 

“Are you just sayin’ that because she asked you to?” Starsky questioned, staring at the blonde’s profile.

 

Hutch thought a moment. “Not really. I can understand her need for closure.”

 

Starsky looked off into the distance. “I don’t want to go,” he said emphatically. “But I will, if you think it’s for the best.”

 

Hutch was quiet. He couldn’t believe he was making Starsky do this, but if he didn’t, wouldn’t Joanie just keep hounding him? And wouldn’t they all go on feeling guilty and angry? “Get it over with, Starsk. Make arrangements to fly out as soon as possible, before we get another big job.”

 

Starsky sighed. “I’ll call tomorrow.”

 

oooooo

 

The stranger was back. Huggy watched him from the bar, noticing how out-of-place he looked. He poured him a glass of the sweet wine he had served him the last time, and headed to his table.

 

“Tomás, you returned,” he greeted him. Tomás raised his head and smiled that delightful smile Huggy remembered from before.

 

“Hello, Mr. Bear. Thank you for the wine.” He gestured at the seat beside him. Looking around at the sparse crowd, Huggy sat down.

 

“Guess I can afford a few minutes. Did you find your friend?”

 

Tomás shook his head a little woefully. “I have not had any luck. He is not listed in the phone book. I am afraid I will have to return to my country without having spoken with him.”

 

“When will you be leaving?” Huggy asked.

 

Tomás sighed. “I will call for a flight tomorrow.”

 

“Well, then, you come by tonight, and I’ll give you dinner on the house. Wouldn’t want anyone to leave without the impression that America, California in particular, is a hospitable place to be.”

 

Tomás smiled again. “Thank you so much, Mr. Bear! It is lovely that I have met such a kind person as you are. I will definitely return tonight.”

 

Huggy stood up. “Great, Tomás. I’ll see you then. And call me Huggy.”

 

Tomás watched the lanky black man return to his duties, his heart warmed by his kindness. He tried to think of a way that he might find his friend before he left the country, but all avenues had led nowhere, and no new ones had come forth. His heart hurt at losing this friend forever, but the part of him that believed in fate thought that perhaps it was never meant to be. He finished his wine and headed for a nearby movie theater to waste the rest of the afternoon before dinner.

 

Ooooo

 

Hutch watched Starsky pack, trying to keep his facial expression neutral. The last thing he wanted to do was to further upset his already upset partner. Having just taken showers, both men were in the nude.

 

“Are you sure you’ll be able to handle the meeting this afternoon without me?” Starsky asked, worrying the edge of the shirt he was packing and not meeting his partner’s gaze. He had called the airport that morning and gotten a flight departing for New York City at 7:30 PM. As soon as he’d hung up, he’d been hit with enormous anxiety at the thought of leaving Hutch. It had lasted throughout the call to his mother and the call to Joanie, both of whom were thrilled to hear that he was coming. He’d tried to hide it all morning while he and Hutch surveyed the completed work site, but now, packing his bag to leave his home and his lover, he felt more rattled than ever. And he knew Hutch knew it.

 

“Of course, Starsky. It’s just a wrap up. Here…” he climbed off the bed and took a blue shirt out of the closet. “Take this in case you go out to eat or something. Makes your eyes even bluer.” He folded it and put it into the bag.

 

“Who ‘m I tryin’ to impress?” Starsky asked, amused.

 

“Nobody,” Hutch said emphatically. “But I like to think of you wearing it. Be sure to tell your ma I said hello, even if she doesn’t like me very much.”

 

“Aw, she likes ya, Hutch,” Starsky said, putting his shaving kit into the bag. “She just doesn’t like the thought of your cock up her son’s ass.”

 

“Starsky!” Hutch mock-protested.

 

Starsky laughed. “Don’t worry. As long as I like it.” He grabbed Hutch around the waist and pulled him close. “And isn’t it a good sign that Ma wants to see me at all? She was pretty miffed when I called off the wedding and all hopes of grandchildren. Doesn’t look like Nick’s ever gonna give her any.” He nuzzled his face into Hutch’s neck. “Mmmm…you smell sweet.”

 

“Sweet?” Hutch grumbled. “Sometimes you suck all the masculinity out of me, Starsky.”

 

Starsky grabbed a handful of muscled ass. “Don’t even think it, Baby. You’re all man, and you know it.”

 

Hutch sighed and leaned into him. “I’m going to miss you. Don’t take too long.”

 

“The way I see it, I just need to talk to Joanie and spend a day with Ma. Then I’ll come home.” Starsky pulled away so he could look into Hutch’s clear blue eyes. “I can’t stay away from you long. Not when I’m in my right mind, anyway.”  Taking Hutch’s hand and pulling him toward the bed, he motioned for him to sit, then settled next to him. “Something that really bothers me about that time…when I couldn’t remember…”

 

“Yeah?” Hutch asked, his face so close to Starsky’s that his breath tickled his cheek. “What’s that?”

 

“I—well, I think I told you…I’d had snatches of remembering things. Between us. And they scared me.”

 

Hutch nodded. “I know. It’s understandable.”

 

“But if I’d just tried to remember more instead of rebelling against it…”

 

“Starsky, we can’t go back to the ‘what ifs’.”

 

“But that was four months wasted for us, Hutch!”

 

“And we just wasted four minutes talking about it.” He pulled Starsky’s hands up to his mouth and kissed each of them. “Please just get this settled so we can put it all behind us. I’ll be here waiting.”

 

“Maybe I should take you with me,” Starsky worried.

 

Hutch smiled. “Okay, I’ll stay at your ma’s with you. I can hang out with her while you talk to Joanie, and I can tell her all about what we do in bed. Or…I could go with you to talk to Joanie. We can demonstrate our physical love for each other in front of her…speed up the healing process.”

 

Starsky smiled and ducked his head. “I guess it wouldn’t be such a good idea, smart ass.”

 

“It would be a  _terrible_ idea, hot ass.”

 

Starsky looked at him, eyes twinkling. “What did you just call me?”

 

“Hot.” Hutch raised a brow. “Ass.”

 

Starsky growled and knocked Hutch backward onto the bed, pinning him down with his weight. “Tryin’ to start something, Hutchinson?”

 

Hutch ground up into him. “Tryin’ HARD!” He bucked up on the second word, causing Starsky to gasp and grind down, his hips gyrating slowly. He stared down into Hutch’s eyes, and when his partner’s breath hitched, he lowered his mouth to his, tugging gently at his lips before wetting them with his tongue. Hutch breathed harder.

 

“You like that, Baby Blue? Tell me you like it.”

 

Hutch groaned, incredibly excited, as he always was when Starsky attempted to make him lose it bed. Starsky liked to talk during sex, unlike his more inhibited partner, and the more he could make Hutch vocalize, the more turned on Starsky would get.

 

“Yeah, sounds to me like you like it.” Starsky leaned down and nibbled on Hutch’s earlobe. Hutch bucked up into him again, almost unseating him this time.

 

“Tell me what you want, Hutch,” Starsky breathed into his ear, sending ripples of delicious sensation down his spine.

 

“Oh, god…” Hutch bucked again, and Starsky pushed his groin into him, twisting and pushing. Hutch’s breathing accelerated.

 

“Now, you know what I want you to tell me. And you know the way I want you to say it.” Starsky nibbled at Hutch’s jaw, and Hutch closed his eyes.

 

“Look at me, Hutch,” Starsky demanded, his voice soft steel.

 

Hutch opened his eyes and met his gaze. Starsky smiled, then took his partner’s earlobe in his mouth and explored it with his hot tongue.  Bending his head, he licked enticingly up Hutch’s long neck. “I could just eat you up. Every bit of you,” he said huskily. “…never get full.”

 

Hutch’s eyes glazed over and he closed them, emitting a low moan.

 

“Come on, Hutch…you know what I want you to say. Do you want me?” He nibbled the side of his partner’s open, panting mouth, his tongue dancing out to wet the corner. “Say you want me. Say my name.”

 

Hutch’s eyes fluttered open, two orbs of blue. “I want you, David,” he said hoarsely. Starsky lowered his forehead to meet Hutch’s.

 

“God, I love it when you say that,” he rasped, his breath coming hard. Hutch knew that wasn’t all his partner wanted and expected him to say. He wanted him to ask him to fuck him.

 

Hutch reached up and cupped Starsky’s face in his hands, staring into his eyes, into his soul, feeling a love so strong and immense it threatened to overwhelm him. “Make love to me,” he said softly, his thumbs moving over his face. “I want you to make love to me, David.”

 

Starsky let out a choked breath, and lowered his mouth to Hutch’s in an excruciatingly gentle kiss that tasted of tears.

 

“I’ll make love to you Hutch,” he whispered between kisses. “Wanna make you crazy. Wanna watch you come.”

 

Gently, Starsky turned Hutch over onto his stomach and pushed his legs up into a frog position, completely baring his muscular ass to him. Slowly sliding his hands up and down his legs, he breathed gently into Hutch’s crack, eliciting a low keening sound from his partner.

 

“Oh, god…” Hutch whimpered into the mattress.

 

“You like that, Baby?” Starsky asked. “Tell me.”

 

“I l-like it. A lot”

 

Starsky smiled.

 

Starsky moved his head down and slowly licked Hutch’s perineum. Hutch bucked, grabbing onto the top edge of the mattress as his lover moved his tongue upward and began to flick lazily at his tight hole. Starsky's hands grasped his partner’s thighs firmly as the tongue movement got faster and faster, sending Hutch’s insides coiling and his mind spiraling. It was so fucking good.

 

“Oh, god…yes!” he yelled, letting go completely in a string of senseless talk as Starsky bit the edge of his left ass check and then nibbled there.

 

Starsky was so turned on by his partner’s sudden loss of control that in two swift slides of his body, he came on the sheet underneath him. Resting his head briefly on Hutch’s thigh until he recovered, he edged forward, formed his tongue into a stiff point, and fucked Hutch with it until he shouted, begging him for release. Starsky lifted Hutch’s ass off the bed a few inches, and, sliding one hand underneath to grasp Hutch’s swollen cock, he pressed his own chin to the mattress and playfully lapped his tongue at the dangling, tightening sack, instantly sending Hutch over the edge and into a mind-numbing orgasm that left him sobbing his name into the tangled sheets.

 

Starsky moved up and gathered the blonde into his arms, murmuring words of comfort, stroking the silky hair, and kissing the damp forehead.

 

“You okay, partner?” he asked, when Hutch had calmed a bit.

 

“That was…that was…” Hutch sniffled, a ragged, depleted mess after what had been the single-handedly most intense orgasm of his life. Clutching at Stasrky’s waist, he looked up into his blue eyes, his own face wet with sweat and tears and full of love. “…mind blowing.”

 

Starsky hugged him to him. “Good. That’s what I wanted it to be. I didn’t get to watch you, but I certainly heard you!”

 

Hutch chuckled weakly. “Neighbors probably did, too.” He glanced up at him questioningly. “What about you?” One glance downward showed him that Starsky’s cock was flaccid.

 

“All over the bed. Couldn’t help it, you were so beautiful.”

 

Hutch smiled a slow, slightly embarrassed grin and nestled back in his lover’s arms.

 

After a moment, Starsky kissed Hutch softly on the head. “We’d better get up, buddy, if we wanna get a bite to eat before my flight.”

 

Reluctantly, Hutch pulled himself out of his relaxed stupor and they finished getting ready.

oooOOOooo

 

 

Huggy’s was moderately crowded for a week day night, and Starsky was happy to be able to find a secluded table in the back. He perused the menu while Hutch ordered their beers at the bar. Huggy followed him to the table.

 

“Well, this is a surprise…to see my two favorite landscapers during the week instead of on a Saturday. What’s the occasion?” He took a seat beside Starsky. “And may I suggest the pasta? It’s to die for, if I do say so myself.”

 

“You make it sound like you cook it yourself,” Hutch chided. “When we all know Ricco does the cooking.”

“Humph,” Huggy grunted. “If I didn’t stand there telling him everything to put in the pot, who knows what would come out of it?”

 

“The pasta sounds good,” Starsky interrupted. “As long as it’s fast. I have a plane to catch.”

 

Huggy called a waitress over and put the order in, adding, “Pronto.”

 

“Where are you going, may I ask?” Huggy inquired, looking from the blond to the brunet.

 

“Starsky’s going to New York,” Hutch answered, taking a sip of his beer and avoiding his friend’s gaze.

 

“Your mother sick or something?” Huggy asked.

 

“Joanie wants to talk to me,” Starsky replied, trying not to wiggle in his seat under his old friend’s disapproving stare.

 

Huggy frowned. “Don’t she have a phone?” He asked, rearing his head back. Huggy was one of the few people who knew about their relationship, and both Starsky and Hutch knew that he was a wonderful friend who cared deeply about both of them. They even suspected that he knew about their feelings for one another even before they knew about them themselves. Starsky’s amnesia and subsequent engagement to Joanie had rattled Huggy considerably, especially when it had come down to Huggy renting a tux, prepared to hand Starsky the rings the following day.

 

“Yes, she has a phone,” Starsky said patiently. “She wants to see me in person. She wants to talk things out and put it all behind her.”

 

“Hmmph,” Huggy muttered. “I think it’s a bad idea.”

 

“Well, sorry I didn’t consult you before makin’ up my mind,” Starsky said sarcastically. Hutch just drank his beer and watched the exchange, unwilling to enter into it.

 

“Maybe you should’ve. You don’t seem to make very good choices, if you know what I’m sayin’,” Huggy pointed out.

 

“I make choices fine when I don’t have amnesia, Huggy,” Starsky countered irritably.

 

“Then why you going to New York to talk to a woman you don’t want nothing to do with?” Huggy’s face was rigid.

 

Starsky finally looked to Hutch for help. “Hutch?”

 

Hutch was tempted to let his partner struggle, but thought better of it. “I told him to, Huggy.”

 

Huggy rounded on him. “What? You playin’ the martyr again, Blondie? When are you gonna learn…” Just then, his attention was drawn to the front door where Tomás Vega had just entered the restaurant. “Excuse me, but this discussion will have to wait for another time.”

 

“Darn,” Starsky muttered into his beer, and Huggy gave him the finger.

 

“I have a new friend for you to meet, and I’d like you to be on your best behavior.” Huggy stood and motioned to Tomás with his hand. Both men turned in their seats in time to see the man approaching their table.

 

Two things happened at once. Tomás’ eyes got wide, and his smile wider, and Hutch gasped audibly, his mouth dropping open. He stood.

 

“T-Tomás!” he managed, just before the dark man encircled him in a tight embrace. “What are you d-doing here?” he asked, returning the hug.

 

“Oh, Ken, I had despaired of finding you!”

 

“Y-you were looking for me?”

 

Starsky watched the scene, a frown on his face. The resurfacing of Hutch’s infrequent stutter caught and held his attention, not to mention the very handsome man holding him in his arms.

 

Hutch stepped back.

 

“I came here to see you, yes,” Tomás said. “But it was impossible to find you.”

 

“So Hutch here was the friend you were looking for?” Huggy asked incredulously. “If I had known that, I could’ve helped you out, my brother.”

 

Hutch moved back to reveal Starsky seated at the table. “Tomás, this is my partner, David Starsky. Starsky, Tomás Vega. I met him when I was in Spain a few months ago.”

 

Starsky leaned forward and shook Tomás’ hand. “Glad to meet ya,” he drawled, a little casually for his tense body language. “So you met Hutch in Spain…”

 

Tomás looked inquiringly at Hutch.

 

“Hutch is a nickname,” the blond explained.

 

“Ah, I see. Hutch—Hutchinson.”

 

Hutch smiled. “That’s right. Tomás…how long have you been here?”

 

“A few days. But I was giving up on locating you, Ken. I am very surprised to find you here, where my kind, new friend Huggy invited me to have dinner.” He struggled a moment, then lapsed into Spanish, and Hutch answered him fluently. Starsky watched, a little uncomfortable with the exchange, especially when Tomás reached over and put a hand on Hutch’s upper arm, staring beseechingly into his eyes. Starsky looked to Huggy, who only shrugged.

 

Hutch switched back to English. “Have a seat. We’re just about to eat.” He indicated an empty chair.

 

“I’ll go put another order of pasta in,” Huggy replied, escaping all-too-gladly. Hutch appeared uncomfortable, and Starsky had that dangerously silent look about him.

 

Tomás took the chair indicated and proceeded to stare at Hutch like he was the main course. “It is so very good to see you again, Ken,” he said fervently in his thick accent, placing an olive-skinned hand over Hutch’s golden one. “I cannot tell you how much I’ve missed you.”

 

Starsky leaned toward Hutch a fraction of an inch, staking his claim as clearly as though he’d spoken the words out loud:  _He’s mine._

 

Tomás looked at Starsky, then at Hutch. Hutch spoke to him again in Spanish. “ _I told you how things were between us.”_

_“Yes, but he got married.”_

_“No, it didn’t happen, Tomás.”_

“Excuse me,” Starsky interrupted. “I hate to intrude, but …”

 

“Sorry, Starsk. Tomás and I sort of have some unfinished business.”

 

Huggy appeared, setting the pasta down on the table. “Anything else I can get you three gentlemen?” he asked.

 

“How about an interpreter,” Starsky mumbled, and Hutch gave him an apologetic smile.

 

“How long will you be in town, Tomás?” Hutch asked.

 

The soulful gray eyes met his over his wine glass, then glanced toward Hutch’s partner. Starsky met the gaze, noticing the fringe of impossibly long, dark lashes and the single dark curl on the high forehead.

 

“I was going to call the airport tomorrow to make arrangements,” Tomás answered in a voice that Starsky thought sounded like pure sex. He shifted in his seat, suddenly wondering how well Hutch had gotten to know this man.

 

“Perhaps we can have lunch tomorrow and talk.” Hutch began eating. “Starsky has to catch a flight tonight, so we’re in a bit of a hurry.”

 

Tomás asked a question in Spanish and Hutch answered. The man glanced at Starsky again before digging into his meal with gusto.

 

Starsky’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like this a bit.

 

OOOoooOOO

 

On the way to the airport, Starsky remained silent, coiled with jealousy. Just before the turn, Hutch pulled off onto a side road and parked.

 

“I want to say goodbye to you here,” he said. His partner turned in his seat and gazed at him, eyes so intense he pulled back a little.

 

“Starsky?” he asked uncertainly.

 

“So you gonna tell me what went on between you and the Tuscan matador, or are you gonna leave me guessin’?”

 

Hutch frowned. “Tuscany’s in Italy, Starsk. Now matadors  _are_  in Spain…”

 

Starsky leaned forward, eating up every inch of space between them, focusing his gaze on Hutch. “You know what I mean, Blondie. Did you and Mr. Juicy-Tush get it on while you were in Europe?”

 

Hutch pulled back, head against the driver side window. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that, Starsky!”

 

“Why?” Starsky scooted closer, hemming Hutch up against the door. “You had every right. For all you knew, I was on my honeymoon.”

 

“Yeah, but I would’ve  _told_ you about it if I had!”

 

Starsky examined his partner’s face for a moment and eased up a little. “So you’re sayin’ you didn’t fuck him. Did you do  _anything_ with him?”

 

There it was. It was only a split second, but Hutch looked away. White hot jealousy boiled over, filling Starsky’s veins with molten steel. “I knew it.” he said quietly. “I knew it as soon as I saw him look at you. He’s in love with you.”

 

Hutch reached up and touched Starsky’s face. “It doesn’t matter, Starsk. I’m in love with  _you_. He knows that. He knew it then. That’s why I couldn’t go to bed with him.”

 

Despite his anger, Starsky couldn’t help but tilt his face into Hutch’s hand. He closed his eyes. “What did you do with him? I gotta know.”

 

Hutch’s mouth thinned. “Why? So you can drive yourself crazy over it? I can tell you now, whatever we did, it wasn’t as bad as what I could hear you doing with Joanie in your bedroom!”

 

The words were like a slap, and Starsky pulled back. Hutch was breathing hard, both from remembering the volatile love-making he’d heard and from his partner’s close proximity in the car.

 

“You’re going to miss your plane if we don’t get going,” he stated, sitting up straight. Suddenly, Starsky pulled him to him, their eyes inches apart.

 

“I  _love_ you, Hutch. Don’t you forget it.” He kissed him, hard, and Hutch couldn’t resist him. He dove into the kiss, clutching Starsky to his chest.

 

“You don’t have anything to worry about, Starsk,” He breathed raggedly into his ear when their mouths parted. “Get this settled and come home to me.” Another kiss, sweet and loving, and he turned and started the car. “And for god’s sake, be careful on the escalator!”

 

 

oooooo

 

Starsky sat on the plane, elbow on the arm of the seat and finger pressed against his lips, staring out into the wide expanse of clouds. Everything in him rebelled against leaving Hutch. He hated being away from his partner at the best of times—he had felt that way even before they’d started the romantic part of their relationship. His mind turned to the way his partner had looked earlier, completely nude and open to him on the bed. Shifting in his seat, he had to surreptitiously adjust his pants.

 

It still amazed him to realize that they were lovers, even as, at the same time, it felt that they had always been lovers. He smiled at the paradox.

 

Leaning his head back against the seat, he closed his eyes, remembering that day when they had spent long hours pouring over Starsky’s designs for their first real client in their new business. Hutch had been leaning over his shoulder, watching as Starsky added touches to the drawings. His breath was soft on Starsky’s bare neck, and the air in the empty greenhouse was warm and damp. The sun had gone down, and they’d locked the doors long ago, too keyed up in the excitement of their new venture to put things away and go home.

 

“You’re so talented, Starsk--” Hutch said near his ear, his breath tickling the sensitive skin there. “You amaze me.”

 

For some reason, the words and tone moved Starsky as they never had before. He turned in his seat and looked at Hutch, who was only an inch away and didn’t move. Their eyes met, and as so often had happened in their partnership, something passed between them. They understood, considered, and then acted upon it, of one mind. Their lips met in a loving kiss that quite frankly curled Starsky’s toes. He couldn’t believe that he was kissing his partner—his male partner—and enjoying it so much. There was an uncertain moment when he wondered if Hutch would pull back and it would all be forgotten, but instead his partner deepened the kiss, and Starsky was lost.

 

At that moment, he had known they were meant to be together in every way. Sure, a period had followed when he and Hutch had to work through their fears at this new and somewhat dangerous turn in their relationship, but just as he’d known then with certainty that what they were doing was right, he now knew that he had to settle the mess he’d made with Joanie so that he could come back to his reason for living.

 

Come back to Hutch.

 

Ooo

 

Hutch took at seat next to Tomás at the table in the small dining room, where he had placed a large salad and some cheese and crackers. As they began to eat, Hutch asked after the man’s family, then conversation turned to some of the things they had done together in the small village, including bicycling for miles and having a picnic where some roaming cattle had interrupted them. Soon they were laughing so hard they were wiping away tears.

 

“I’m glad you’re here, Tomás, or I would probably be sulking over Starsky being gone,” Hutch told him sincerely in Spanish.

 

“You are still in love with him,” his friend stated, his handsome face becoming serious and a little bit sad.

 

Hutch nodded. “Of course. That will never change.”

 

“I thought he was married---I had hoped that you had had time to get over him. That you had spent this time healing. I wanted so much to see you.”

 

Hutch placed a hand on Tomás’ arm. “So you did travel all this way just to see me.” He gazed at the younger man a little sadly. “You and I had a special time together. I’ll always be thankful to you for helping me during that painful period, Tomás. But when I got home, Starsky was waiting. He had regained his memory and come back to me.”

 

Tomás smiled softly. “I am happy for you, Ken. I want your happiness for you. I wish that happiness could be with me, though, I must be honest with you about that. Still, I am not sad to have come all this way. It is wonderful to be with you again.”

 

Hutch leaned over and kissed Tomás on the cheek. Looking into the large, dark gray eyes, he promised in English, “You will find someone to love you as you deserve to be loved.” Tomás turned his head and met Hutch’s lips in a gentle kiss, surprising him, but Hutch didn’t pull away—just kept the kiss chaste.

 

“If you should ever change your mind…” Tomás murmured, his breath a whisper on the blond man’s lips.

 

“I won’t,” Hutch said with certainty.

 

They finished eating and took their drinks to the deck, enjoying the cool night air. Hutch had spoken with Starsky the evening before when his plane had landed. His partner had again promised to take care of things and return home as quickly as possible. Hutch hoped it had all gone smoothly, but he didn’t want to think too much about it. He didn’t like imagining Starsky with Joanie—it was too easy. He remembered the night he’d come home and gotten in bed, startled to hear the sudden creaking of the mattress in Starsky’s room and the moans of pleasure that he would have known anywhere. Then Joanie’s cries that had literally driven him from the house to spend the rest of the two weeks sleeping at their place of business.

 

The memory still hurt.

 

“What are you frowning about?” Tomás asked. Hutch had forgotten he was there.

 

“Just a bad memory,” Hutch answered, leaning against the deck and trying to smile.

 

Tomás touched his cheek. “I don’t want to see you frown, mi aguacatona.”

 

Hutch turned away, uncomfortable with the endearment. A noise from around the house got his attention, and he strode inside to look out the window. A taxi was pulling down the drive, and Hutch was surprised to see Starsky coming up the front walk. He rushed to the front door and threw it open.

 

“Starsk…what are you doing here?” He asked. Tomás had come up behind him, and for a moment, Hutch wondered if Starsky would be jealous. But there was a much odder expression on his face---one that filled Hutch with trepidation.

 

Starsky swallowed. “I need to be alone with Hutch,” he told Tomás, who immediately looked to the blond before taking his jacket off the coat stand. He paused before Hutch, putting a hand on his cheek before walking out the door toward the car that Huggy had loaned him.

 

“Starsky, what—“ Hutch began, but Starsky gave a quick jerk of his head and walked past him into the house where he stood looking around as though lost.

 

Hutch quietly closed the front door. “You’re back awfully soon,” he said quietly. “Things not go well?”

 

“You could say that,” Starsky said, his voice hoarse and almost foreign to Hutch’s ears.

 

Hutch stepped forward and put a hand on Starsky’s arm. “Starsk, tell me what happened.”

 

Slowly his partner turned around to face him, then took a step forward and caught him up in his arms, his lips finding his mouth and his tongue surging forward. For long moments Starsky kissed Hutch as though it guaranteed him another second of life, and Hutch met every turn of his head, every stroke of his tongue, until Starsky finally pulled back and stared him in the eyes, his own full of love, devotion, and what Hutch suddenly recognized as desperation.

 

“W-what is it?” Hutch asked, a knot forming in his stomach. His hands came from around his partner’s back to grab a hold of his strong forearms. “Tell me!”

 

“I love you, Hutch. I love you—that’ll never change. You’ve gotta believe me!”

 

Hutch blinked, the knot of fear larger now, and his eyes begged Starsky to explain.

 

“Hutch—when I got to Ma’s, I called you. And then…Ma fixed dinner. She’d invited Joanie over.“ He swallowed as though trying to dislodge the words that had become stuck in his throat. “Nick was there, too. And…they told me…”

 

“What?” Hutch searched Starsky’s face. “ _What_?”

 

“They told me that Joanie’s pregnant with my child.”

 

Hutch dropped his hands from Starsky’s arms and fell back as though shot. His back hit the wall by the front door, and Starsky took a step toward him.

 

“Hutch—“

 

Hutch held up a hand. “No! Don’t.” He straightened and moved past him down the steps into the living room.

 

“Joanie said she’d wanted to tell me in person.” Starsky followed Hutch, his legs moving sluggishly as though through deep, thick water. Hutch stood in the center of the room, his head down and his hands at his sides, clenching and unclenching. He felt dizzy.

 

“Hutch, say somethin’,” Starsky pleaded. “I’ve been miserable since I found out. I got the first flight out today to get back here.”

 

Hutch let out a small sound that resembled a laugh, but there was no humor in it, only pain. “Why’d you come back? You’re going to be a father, Starsk.”

 

Starsky grabbed him by the arms and swung him around. “You think I wanna be?”

 

“Don’t you?” Hutch asked, then jerked away and walked to the opposite end of the room.

 

“Don’t run away from me!” Starsky demanded. “Don’t act like I planned this!”

 

“Well, you certainly didn’t  _keep_ it from happening!” Hutch accused.

 

Starsky stood, dumbfounded. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“It means, I’m willing to bet you never once used a condom when you were screwing Joanie! Right here in this house!” Hutch shouted, the cords of his neck standing out. “Am I right? Did you even ask her if she was on the pill?” He could see by Starsky’s face that it was true. “No. And you know why? Because you would’ve liked nothing better than to get her pregnant. You wanted children---so why shouldn’t you still want them?”

 

“Because of you! I have you!” Starsky told him. “I didn’t know about us then. I didn’t remember! You _know_ that! If I’d known about you, I’d never have wanted to have a baby.”

 

Hutch shook his head, his face reddening with anger. “No, don’t pin me as the reason you can’t be a family man. Goddammit, Starsky! Don’t pin that on me!” Hutch whirled around and grabbed a vase off the mantel, slinging it across the room and up against the far wall where it shattered into a hundred small pieces. Tears stood in his eyes, and he suddenly felt emasculated. Here he was in this position  _again_ —. He had to get out of there. Charging toward the front door, Hutch passed Starsky, who reached out and grabbed hold of him before he could leave.

 

“Don’t, Starsky! Let me go!” Hutch tried to pull out of his grip. He was shaking all over.

 

“Please, Hutch. Don’t leave while you’re this upset!” Starsky implored, his own tears spilling unheeded down his cheeks.

 

Hutch stilled. “Don’t you see? I can’t stay,” he said beseechingly. “Let me go!”

 

Starsky looked into Hutch’s eyes, the blue darker than usual and murky with tears. Slowly his fingers loosened and he dropped his hands to his sides. Hutch turned and walked out, nabbing his jacket off the rack on the way. With trembling hands, he searched the pockets for his keys and headed for his brown Pinto which was parked to the side of the house by Starsky’s Mustang. He was breathing hard. His heart ached, each beat a hammer hit to his ribs.

 

“Hutch!” Starsky called to him, his voice raspy with emotion. “Please, we need to talk!”

  
”There’s nothing to say,” Hutch told him, opening the driver’s side door.

 

“Of course, there is!”

 

Hutch only shook his head and got into the car. He started it and drove down the driveway, fast, never turning to look at his partner as he stood watching him leave, distress etched in every feature of his ravaged face.

 

Ooo

 

“Please, Hug, if he shows up there, call me,” Starsky said into the phone. He was pacing a small stretch of the living room, anchored to the space by the phone cord.

 

“Starsky, tell me what’s goin’ on!” Huggy demanded.

 

Starsky ignored the question. “Where is Tomás stayin’? Maybe he went to see him,” his gut clenched at the thought. He hadn’t been happy to find Hutch’s sexy Spanish friend at their house upon his return.

 

“He’s stayin’ in my room upstairs until his flight leaves Thursday. And he’s sittin’ right here, so I know Hutch isn’t with him,” Huggy answered. “Starsky, you gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?”

 

Starsky ran a hand through his disheveled curls. “Hutch’s real upset. I’m afraid…”

 

“Yeah, but what’s  _happened_? And don’t say it’s none of my business. You two pull me into your business when it suits you, and I’m sick of it. You want my help, you let me in on it. And what happened to your trip—I thought you were in New York City!”

 

“I came back. Joanie’s pregnant,” Starsky stated flatly. He still couldn’t believe it was true. He felt like he was still standing in his mother’s living room, staring at her, Nick, and Joanie. His mother had been ecstatic. Later that night, she’d told him that he should break off his ‘unnatural’ relationship with Hutch immediately and make plans to move to New York. He had a child to think of.

 

Huggy was silent for long minutes.

 

“Hutch is more upset than I’ve seen in a long time, Hug,” Starsky said miserably. “He’s angry and hurt…”

 

“I’m sure he is,” Huggy snapped, a bit too accusingly for Starsky’s wired nerves.

 

“You know, you could remember once in a while that you and me were friends first,” he pointed out. Seemed like Huggy was always mad at him lately and taking Hutch’s side. Not that he didn’t understand that, but it still hurt a little. “Besides, you probably aren’t givin’ me the benefit of the doubt. I’m not leaving Hutch.”

 

“Oh, really?” Huggy asked skeptically.

 

“Really!” Starsky almost yelled. “Please, just call me if he comes in there. Let me know he’s okay.” He hung up, flinging himself onto the sofa and putting his head in his hands. Groaning, he yanked at his hair, something Hutch had laughingly told him would leave him bald one day if he didn’t stop. A few long moments later, the phone rang. Starsky jumped at it.

 

“Hutch!” he gasped into the phone.

 

“It’s me, Joanie,” came a small voice on the other end of the line. “You told Hutch,” she guessed.

 

“Yeah,” Starsky said hoarsely.

 

“How’d he take it?”

Knowing the resentment he felt wasn’t fair, Starsky struggled not to go off on her. “He’s very upset. He ran off somewhere. I-I’m worried about him.”

 

Joanie let out a breath. “What did you tell him?”

 

“Only that you’re pregnant.”

 

“Oh. Well, Dave…have you thought about what you’re going to do?”

 

“Joanie, you know I’m in love with Hutch. That hasn’t changed. I’ll do right by the baby, but…”

 

“Dave, I don’t think you’ve thought this through. Our child deserves two parents. Call me when you’ve really thought about it.” She hung up and Starsky sat listening to the dial tone for several seconds before replacing the receiver in its cradle on the table.

 

Evidently everyone—Hutch, Huggy, Joanie—thought Starsky was going to leave Hutch, go to New York, and marry Joanie like a good soldier. He clenched his teeth together, resisting the idea with every fiber of his being. He did not want to leave Hutch.  _Ever._ Would it really be fair to a child to live a life with two parents who didn’t really love each other? Well, maybe Joanie did love him, but he knew he could never love her the way he loved Hutch. She’d always be second best. Maybe Joanie would agree to move to California so he could be near the child…Hell, why couldn’t Hutch have stuck around and  _talked_ to him? He needed his best friend right now!

 

The hours ticked away, darkness falling and deepening. Starsky drank beer after beer, sitting on the sofa, watching out the front window for headlights that never came up the drive. Huggy didn’t call. The pressure in Starsky’s chest grew until he thought it would burst. Around midnight, he got up and wandered around the house, looking at things and thinking of his life with Hutch—a life he’d never even suspected he could have a mere ten months earlier.

 

He got the broom and went back to the living room to sweep up the pieces of the broken vase. As he brushed the shards into a dustpan, he relived the moment Hutch had thrown it, recalling the agony etched in his beautiful features, tears welling in Starsky’s eyes for the pain he was again causing his beloved partner. He thought of Hutch’s accusation—that Starsky hadn’t been careful because he wanted children. Was it true? Is that why he hadn’t used protection when he’d been with Joanie? He hadn’t known about his life with Hutch, and he’d had feelings for Joanie. Had he wanted an excuse to marry her? Had he thought about his second chance at life after Gunther’s hit and the years that were ticking away? He had certainly not been able to deny it when Hutch accused him.

 

Sighing, he took the dustpan full of glass to the kitchen and emptied it in the trash.

 

Finally, Starsky went into the bedroom he shared with Hutch, undressed, and climbed into bed. He felt sorely alone, and couldn’t help but think of Hutch lying here a few months ago listening to him have sex with Joanie in the next room. Poor Hutch. Too honorable to tell Starsky the truth about their relationship. So loving that he only wanted his partner to be happy. Thinking about it hurt Starsky’s heart, and he pulled Hutch’s pillow close and held it to him in the darkness.

 

Hutch didn’t know about the night that Starsky had stood in this room, a vivid memory of he and Hutch naked in each other’s arms sending him bolting into the living room to carry Joanie to this bed to ravage her. It had scared him so much---those fleeting flashes of his partner buried inside him---he had needed to erase the memory. Yet, he hadn’t been able to climax. His subconscious knew he belonged to Hutch and this bed was theirs. Yet he’d told Joanie right then he was going back to New York with her. And he had. Then he’d proposed.

 

At least he knew he hadn’t impregnated her in this bed—a place where he and Hutch had loved one another countless times, each memory a blessing to him now.

 

_Oh, Hutch! Where are you? Please come back to me!_

Finally, Starsky fell into a fitful doze.

 

When he awoke, sun was streaming through the window. He sat up, confused a moment, until memory kicked in and a sick ache filled his heart. Sliding off the bed, he started for the bathroom when something outside caught his eye. Leaning forward, he pushed the curtain aside and was shocked to see a familiar figure standing out by the garden.

 

Not wasting a moment, Starsky was out of the house and running toward him like a shot.

 

“Hutch!” he breathed, when he’d reached him. His partner hadn’t moved. His face was pale and quiet. Starsky reached out and tentatively touched his arm.

 

“Where have you been?” Starsky asked. “I was so worried!”

 

“Driving,” Hutch answered, his voice low.

“Hutch, I want to talk about this. I don’t plan to leave you. I don’t want to! There are ways to work this out. Joanie could move here…”

 

Hutch’s head jerked toward him so quickly that Starsky took a startled step backward.

 

“Don’t,” Hutch said fiercely. “It’s not gonna happen like that! You’re too good for that. The baby doesn’t deserve it!”

 

“Lots of parents raise their kids apart, Hutch.”

 

“And do they have fathers who live with their male lovers?”

 

Starsky looked stricken.

 

“Of course not, Starsk. You are going to go back and marry Joanie. You’re going to raise this child together.”

 

Hutch turned and walked toward the house. Starsky followed, bile rising in his throat.

 

“No, Hutch. I’m not! I’m staying with you!” He shouted as they crossed the threshold. “I love you, not her.”

 

Hutch turned to face him. “You could love her, if you let yourself,” he said quietly. “You loved her before—back when you dated her. Before this happened between us.” He stared into Starsky’s eyes, daring him to deny it. Hutch turned and walked into the bedroom, pulling a bag out of the closet and setting it on the rumpled bed.

 

“Hutch—what are you doin’?”

 

“I’m leaving, Starsky. I’ll make arrangements later to sell the house.”

 

“Hutch, no!” He grabbed his arms as he pulled several shirts off hangers.

 

Hutch squeezed his eyes shut. “This is how it has to be, Starsk.”

 

Starsky grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him to face him. “Look at me!”

 

Hutch’s eyes opened slowly. They were wet.

 

“God, Hutch. I’m not leaving you,” Starsky’s voice broke. “And you’re not leaving me--I can’t live without you, don’t you know that?”

 

Hutch wouldn’t meet his gaze. “You’ll be okay. Eventually.”

 

Starsky’s hands came up to cup Hutch’s face. He stroked his stubbled jaw with his thumbs. “No, I won’t. I want to be with you.”

 

Finally, Hutch met his gaze. “I’m not giving you a choice, Starsky. I’m leaving. I’m not coming back.”

 

Starsky dropped his hands and took a step back, his mouth falling open.

 

“What are you sayin’?”

 

“This is it, Starsk.” Hutch became more agitated as he spoke, bringing out his stammer. “I-I’m not going to see you again. I’it’s too painful; I’m sorry. There’s j-just no way we can go on—you married and m-me around. I-I have to start a n-new life.” Now he gripped Starsky’s shoulders. “Y-you know it’s true! We couldn’t see each other and not be t-together! It would r-ruin your marriage! This will give you a chance at happiness.”

 

Starsky’s mouth was still open. He couldn’t take Hutch’s words or meaning in. A life without Hutch?

 

He might as well be dead.

 

He shook his head. “No.”

 

“M-maybe someday. Maybe someday it will be better and we can see each other again. I c-can be an uncle to your kids.” Hutch bent his head low, unable to stop the tears.

 

“No!” Starsky shouted, raising his arms and breaking Hutch’s hold on his shoulders. “No! I’m not doin’ this! I’m not marrying Joanie, even if it means I’ll never see my child!”

 

Hutch looked up at him, his face wet, but his eyes full of fire. “Stop it!” he yelled back. “That’s bullshit, Starsky! Don’t make me the reason you will never see your child! Don’t you see I can’t live with that, either? I’ve been thinking about this all night. This is the  _only way!_  God help us, we had our t-time together, but now it’s  _over_!” He turned quickly back to his packing, throwing clothes into the bag left and right. He ran into the bathroom and came back out with his arms full of toiletries. He dumped them all in the bag.

 

“Hutch—“ Starsky rasped. “Don’t make me beg.”

 

“Beg if you have to, Starsky. I’m not changing my mind. If you think about it, you’ll agree that this is how it has to be.” He zipped up the bag with shaking hands and looked at his partner. “If you think this isn’t killing me, you’re w-wrong,” he said quietly, all his love for his partner shining in his eyes. “One way or another, this is where we’ll end up eventually. Better to end it now.”

 

Starsky stared incredulously at the man he loved, standing before him telling him that in all probability, he’d never see him again.

 

“I can’t do this,” he whispered. “Hutch, I can’t  _be_ without you!”

 

Hutch took a step forward, his eyes roving over Starsky’s face, as though to memorize it. “We’ve always tried to do what’s right, buddy. We can’t stop now.” He wiped a tear from Starsky’s face, then gently kissed the spot where it had been. “Now let’s have a proper goodbye. One that will last us the rest of our lives.” His lips covered Starsky’s, softly seeking, tasting the tears. Starsky sucked in a breath, trembling hands encircling Hutch’s neck as he pulled him closer, clutching his back. They kissed for long moments, hearts hammering against each other before Hutch’s hands unbuttoned Starsky’s jeans and moved down to cover his ass, clenching and unclenching as he roamed the flesh there. Passion and sorrow mingled, passing from one to the other through their lips and skin, and he steered them toward the bed, falling back onto the mattress as Starsky toppled onto him, straddling him with his legs, the kiss unbroken. Eager tongues slid across one another, seeking, finding, nestling in a hot cocoon of warmth and wetness.

 

Hutch let out a heart-broken moan as he broke the contact and pushed his partner’s jeans down his legs, taking his turgid member into his hands, loving it with his fingers.

 

With a fiery hiss, Starsky raised up enough to grapple with Hutch’s pants and get them off, his briefs along with them. He made a lunge for the nightstand drawer and came back with a handful of lubrication that he quickly and smoothly applied to Hutch’s throbbing cock, causing his partner to pant and squirm on the bed, whimpering with need. Hutch clasped Starsky’s hips and threw his head back as Starsky eased himself down and onto him until his ass rested against his tight sack. Undulating, Starsky moaned his partner’s name, leaning forward and clasping Hutch’s wrists to the pillows on each side of his head.

 

“Can’t leave me, Hutch…won’t let you. Love you so much…” he groaned out as he slowly, slowly drove them toward completion. He watched the rapture overtake Hutch’s face—the flutter of the blond lashes, the arch of the strong back, the tightening of the lean stomach muscles. He felt his insides tighten on Hutch’s shaft, and Hutch’s long, muscular legs move up to press against him. Leaning forward to where Hutch was propped against the pillows, Starsky released his wrists and sprinkled his face with kisses as the blonde surged upward, crying out his passion as Starsky began to move rhythmically, his breath coming in gasps as his body shuddered and his pelvis jerked beneath Starsky’s weight, his fingers digging into his lover’s hips as waves of sensation overtook him. He cried out his name, over and over again, each syllable like an electric prod to Starsky’s senses, overloading them, and when Hutch arched up, spilling his seed inside of him, Starsky leaned up and sat down hard, jerking and emptying himself over Hutch’s stomach, his name a garbled shout on his lips. Swells of lingering pleasure washed over them, and for long seconds their moans of rapture filled the room.

 

Afterward, Starsky clutched his partner to him, kissing his damp forehead, murmuring words of love and forever, until he fell into a deep post-coital sleep, his partner snuggled safely against him.

 

When he awoke hours later, Hutch was gone.

 

 

 

Ooooooooooo

 

 

 

 

Days went by with Starsky never leaving the house. The phone rang on and off, but he knew it wasn’t Hutch, so he didn’t answer it. His partner had made it plain that his mind was made up, and Starsky knew better than to think he would change it. If that glorious bout of love making hadn’t done it, nothing would.

 

Starsky felt empty and listless. He didn’t want to think about his troubles or do anything about them. All the fight in him had gone out the door with the man he loved. He certainly didn’t want to go to New York. He didn’t want to talk to Joanie or his mother. All he wanted to do was lie on the bed where he and Hutch had been together and stare at the ceiling.

 

He recalled that moment in the midst of their ecstasy when Hutch’s eyes had met his, and he had seen the naked love there. At that moment, he’d thought Hutch could never really go through with it and leave him. But he’d underestimated his partner’s sense of right. Hutch was determined to force Starsky to marry Joanie and be a father to his child.

 

The only thing was, Starsky couldn’t do it. He didn’t have it in him. He was dead inside. He knew it was the right thing to do, but it would require getting up off the bed and moving more than a few feet. As it was, he’d only gotten up to go to the bathroom and grab the nearest piece of food when his body couldn’t go any longer without sustenance of some sort.

 

As for the unborn child, he knew he was supposed to feel something for it—some kind of longing or budding love-but to him it was no more real than his great-uncle Waldo, whom everybody talked about but he’d never seen.

 

He heard a noise and thought the damn phone was ringing again, then realized it was the doorbell. Heaving himself off the mattress, he stumbled into the hallway and threw open the door.

 

Huggy stood on the porch, a look of surprise on his face and his hand still up in the air.

 

“Why haven’t you been answering your phone?” he asked, looking Starsky up and down. “You look awful!”

 

“Thanks,” Starsky muttered, turning away and walking back into the bedroom where he unceremoniously flopped back onto the bed.

 

Huggy followed and stood in the doorway. “I assume you smell as bad as you look. How ‘bout a shower?”

 

“How ‘bout you leave?” Starsky returned, staring at the ceiling.

 

“Not happening,” Huggy replied, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

 

“Hutch left,” Starsky said after long moments of silence.

 

“I know,” Huggy stated softly.

 

Starsky’s eyes left the ceiling and looked at him. “How? Have you talked to him?”

“He came to see me. To say goodbye. Said to tell you he’d take care of the house and the business later.”

 

“Where’d he go?”

Huggy shrugged.

 

Starsky leaned up on one elbow. “Did he go to Spain? With Tomás?” His tone of voice could slice metal.

 

“How’m I supposed to know?” Huggy asked. “Hutch knows that whatever he tells me is gonna end up in your ear sooner or later. He just said he’d be in touch down the road. Question is, what’re you gonna do?”

 

Starsky flopped back down on the mattress. “Exactly what I been doin’. Nothin’.”

 

His friend looked around. “I can see that. Place smells like it hasn’t seen a whiff of air in decades. You gotta get up and outta here sometime.”

“Oh,yeah? Why’s that?” Starsky asked the ceiling.

 

“Come on, Starsky! Hutch didn’t make this sacrifice for nothing. You got a kid on the way, and he or she deserves all of you. You gotta get your act together.”

 

“Get out, Huggy,” Starsky moaned.

 

The black man crossed to the window, opened the curtains, and pushed the window up. Starsky squinted in the light and turned away from it, burrowing his head under the pillows.

 

“You’re being childish,” the lanky man admonished.

 

Suddenly, Starsky bolted upright on the bed, his face a mask of anger. “What do you know about it?! I don’t give a  _shit_ about Joanie, the kid, New York City,  _nothin’!_ You hear me? I ain’t some kind of fuckin’ perfect human bein’ who wants to do the right thing! What I want is  _Hutch!_ ” He was yelling at the top of his lungs, all the veins standing out on his face. Huggy took a step back, shocked at the sudden turn from lassitude to stark fury. Chest heaving, Starsky turned and swiped the lamp off the night stand. The bulb broke and scattered over the floor.

 

“Okay, Starsky, okay,” Huggy said quietly. “I get it.”

 

Starsky swallowed and made a real effort to quiet his voice.

 

“Go away, Huggy. Please. Go away.”

 

Huggy took a step closer to the door. “I’m just worried about you, man,” he said softly.

 

“I know,” Starsky swallowed again, staring at the wall. “Just go.”

 

 

Huggy watched him for a moment, then turned and left through the front door.

 

Outside, he almost ran straight into the small woman carrying a large carpet bag.

 

“Mrs. Starsky!” he exclaimed. “Excuse me for almost walking over you; I was just leaving.”

 

“Rather in a hurry, I noticed,” Sarah Starsky commented, looking him over with bright, bird-like eyes that missed nothing.

 

“Well, I believe I’ve worn out my welcome,” Huggy replied sheepishly. “Was Starsky expecting you? He—uh—hasn’t exactly cleaned up.”

 

“No, Dave had no idea I was coming.” She set the bag on the stoop. “I’ve been trying to get him on the phone for days.”

 

“He’s a little…out of sorts,” Huggy admitted, wanting very badly to escape, but not wanting to appear rude. He recalled that long, uncomfortable period of time after the rehearsal dinner when he’d had to explain to Mrs. Starsky, Nick, Joanie, and a bunch of other people that Starsky had left to go after Hutch. It still made his blood itch. “May I carry your bag inside?”

 

Sarah nodded, and Huggy stooped to pick it up, taking a step back so she could enter the house first.

 

“Huggy, is that you?” Starsky’s voice boomed from the bedroom. “I told you to get the hell out!”

 

Sarah Starsky caste a glance at Huggy, who gave her an apologetic look, then motioned for him to put the bag by the door. He did so, and with a wave, made a quick exit.

 

Straightening her back, the small woman walked to the bedroom to find her eldest son lying in the middle of a large bed, his arm thrown over his eyes as though trying to hide from the light coming through the window. A quick look around took in the photographs on the wall that she recognized as her son’s work, the masculine furniture, the guitar in the corner, and the photo of Dave and Ken on the nightstand. There was also a lamp with a broken bulb lying on the floor. She’d never visited this house that her son shared with his partner-turned-lover, and was surprised to find it so homey. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it wasn’t this.

 

“Looks like you’re having a bad day,” she commented mildly, and Starsky moved his arm, his mouth opening in surprise.

Sarah frowned at the days’ growth of beard; the sunken, red eyes; and the general apathetic look on her son’s face.

 

“Ma! What’re you doin’ here?”

 

“You wouldn’t answer your phone, so …if you can’t bring Mohammad to the mountain…”

 

“I didn’t wanna talk on the phone,” Starsky grumbled, sitting up and running his hands through his wild, unwashed hair.

 

“Are you going to kick me out like you did your friend, Huggy? What’s going on, Dave?”

 

Starsky swung his feet over the side of the bed and stared at the floor. “Hutch left me.”

 

Sarah moved to the small chair in the corner and sat down. “I see.”

 

Starsky looked up and met her gaze. “Do you?” He shook his head. “I don’t think you even begin to see, Ma. My life is over. I love Hutch, and without him, I’m…I’m nothin’.”

 

“That’s ridiculous, David. You were someone before you met Hutch, and you’re someone now.”

 

Starsky rubbed his face with his hands. “I know that Ma, but I’m miserable. I just feel…” he looked around the room with an expression on his face that took hold of Sarah Starsky’s heart and squeezed. “Lost.”

 

“Dave, you know that you have responsibilities you have to face in New York. Think of what Joanie is going through…”

 

Starsky stood up and walked out of the room, giving his mother no choice but to follow. She made her way down the hall, briefly glancing into the neat living room, and entered a spacious kitchen with an island in the middle. Pots of all sizes hung from iron hooks above it. Her son stood looking out the window above the sink, his back to her.

 

“Mind if I get something to drink?” Sarah asked her son.

 

“Help yourself,” he mumbled.

 

Sarah opened the refrigerator, noticing a few things stuck to the freezer with magnets. There was a shopping list, where “wheat germ” and “alfalfa sprouts” were neatly written, followed by “potato chips” in her son’s almost illegible scrawl. This third item had been crossed out. There was also a picture of a Ken sitting outside, a splash of colorful flowers behind him, with a small dark-headed boy on his lap.

 

“Who’s this little boy?” she asked, touching the photograph. She felt her son move to stand behind her. “That’s Peter, a friend’s child. H-hutch and I were helping her watch him. Her husband was a cop---killed in the line of duty.”

 

Sarah sighed, reaching for a jug of apple juice. “I’m so glad you aren’t a cop anymore, Dave. I worried all the time.”

 

“Yeah, well.” Starsky didn’t seem to know what to say. His eyes had a slightly vacant look that concerned Sarah. 

 

“Dave, go take a shower. I’ll fix us something to eat.”

 

Starsky didn’t answer, simply turned and walked toward the bathroom. Sarah began to pull items out of the refrigerator to make sandwiches. Setting them on the island, she set to work, relieved to hear the shower come on down the hall. As she worked, she flipped on the radio by the sink. Classical music filled the room, something she didn’t normally listen to, but could appreciate. She had a difficult time imagining her son enjoying it, and assumed it was Ken’s choice.

 

Since learning of the relationship between Dave and Ken, Sarah had struggled to come to terms with it. She had always liked Kenneth Hutchinson---admired him as a man and felt beholden to him for the way he steadfastly protected and watched after Dave. Learning that the two had become involved in a romantic and sexual relationship had turned her world upside down. Her son David was as masculine as a man could get…how could this happen? As far as that went, Ken always seemed the same way. The thought of the two of them living together, sleeping together…

 

She shuddered, and cut the two sandwiches she had made into halves. Hearing the shower turn off, she carried the plates to the table and set about making two glasses of ice water.

 

When Dave had shown up in New York with Joanie a few months ago, as a couple, Sarah had been both shocked and thrilled. The subsequent announcement of their engagement had been like an answered prayer. Then, on the very eve of their wedding, Ken had played a song for the couple…she could see the love for her son in his eyes as he sang it. It had been beautiful and disturbing at the same time, at least for her. Everyone else in the room, with the exception of Huggy Bear, didn’t know about the previous relationship between the two men. To be fair to Ken, Sarah didn’t believe he was doing anything more than giving a final gift to his best friend, but the song had jogged David’s memory, which had evidently been lost in a recent accident---something no one had bothered to tell her about. She also found it quite amazing that Ken had not told David or Joanie about it. He had simply stepped aside so that her son could be happy.

 

To say the least, it had been a roller coaster of a time for her. And David had been so upset. She’d never wanted to see him that way again, and yet here he was…

 

Starsky appeared clad in low-slung jeans, his torso bare. Sarah took in the sight of the faded scars, recalling those awful months after the hit. Months when Ken had taken special care of her son. She’d known then that the feelings between them ran deeper than she’d ever thought.

 

Toweling his hair dry, Starsky took a seat across from his mother. “I’m really not hungry, Mom. Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” His voice was dry and almost cold.

 

“I’m here because I’m worried about you. I told you—I’ve been calling.”

 

“Because you want me back in New York with Joanie. You want me to marry her, and for us to be the little family you’ve always dreamed of.”

 

Sarah didn’t deny it, but in the face of his stoic words, she lost the thread of the speech she’d planned to make.

 

“I think that’s what you’ve always wanted, Mom. Me and Joanie to get together--ever since we were little kids. I bet it came as a blow to you to find out I was in love with Hutch.”

 

“I tried to accept it, David. Then you showed up in New York with Joanie—“

 

Starsky looked down, ashamed.

 

“I know…you’d lost your memory.” She leaned forward, putting a hand on his where it lay on the table beside his untouched plate. “But honey, doesn’t it tell you something…that when you had lost all memory of you and Ken, you wanted to be with Joanie? A woman?” She looked hopefully into his eyes.

 

A small, bitter smile played across Starsky’s mouth. “Ma, I know what you’re thinkin’. But the truth is I threw myself at Joanie because my memory was tryin’ to come back, and what I remembered scared me. When Hutch and me first realized our real feelings, it scared the hell out of us. It was like that…I turned away from what I was remembering, and I used Joanie in the process. I’m not proud of that.” He shook his head. “I’ve made mistakes, and I hurt her, and I’ve hurt Hutch.” His eyes filled. “God help me, Ma…I’ve gotten her pregnant and ruined all our lives. I can’t be without Hutch. I love him! But it’s unfair to hold him. And I don’t love Joanie, yet she’s tied to me by the baby.” He shook his head woefully. “I don’t wanna even think about what I’ve done to the baby.” He got up and moved across the room, leaning on the counter, his bare shoulders hunched over.

 

Sarah watched her suffering child, marveling that his feelings for Ken ran so deep. What held two men together in a romantic relationship? They couldn’t have children. They had to hide their feelings from the world or struggle with hatred and bigotry… she wanted to understand.

 

“David. We’ve always been close, haven’t we? But in the last few years, we have stopped talking. I mean _really_ talking. Maybe that’s been mostly my fault, especially since Ken began to mean more to you than just a partner and best friend. Please, do something for your mother. Come with me into the living room, and tell me exactly what you and Hutch are to each other, and what he means to you.”

 

oooOOOooo

 

Hours later, Sarah Starsky lay in the dark bedroom that belonged to her son. He was asleep in the larger bedroom…the one she’d found him in upon her unexpected arrival. She suspected that was the room he shared with Ken, and this one was a ruse.

 

Her son had spent the good part of the evening reliving things that he and Ken had gone through together. Academy days, the early years of their partnership. Things that she had not even known about because, evidently, Dave had not wanted to worry her. He told her about Ken’s family and their lack of affection, and how Starsky’s loving ways had always touched him so. She felt as though she’d lived through their partnership, year by year, until those terrible months after the hit on her son took their relationship in a new, but not so surprising considering their history, direction.

 

Sarah took what Dave told her and pieced it together with the Ken she’d known over the years from their few meetings. Then she pieced all of that with the clues she’d found in this house that they’d called theirs. Dave had taken her for a drive over to their business…the greenhouse and landscaping company. He’d proudly shown her his designs, and told her how Ken had encouraged him to develop this talent. He waxed eloquent on Ken’s green thumb and how he’d always talked to his plants—going so far as to give them names--, until she could hear him doing it in her head. Sarah had actually seen her son’s face light up and he’d laughed a time or two. And always, when he mentioned his partner, she saw unconditional love in his deep blue eyes, so like his father’s.

 

Dave had explained to his mother that he didn’t want to marry Joanie because he didn’t love her. He told her that he’d said the same to his partner, and assured him he’d never leave him. But Ken had insisted he was a better man than that, and he’d taken off. Sarah had to acknowledge the love, devotion, sacrifice, and wisdom of that move. She had developed a new admiration for Ken Hutchinson, and she felt a bit ashamed that she’d never tried to get to know the man better before.

 

As she stared at the ceiling, she suddenly heard Dave’s voice from the other room, raised in alarm. Slipping out of bed, she hurried through the hall and edged the door open, staring into the darkness.

 

“Hutch, don’t go!” her son was murmuring, his cries agitated and pitiful. She approached the bed and laid a hand on his forehead, but he thrashed and rolled away from her, continuing his pleadings in his sleep. Not wanting to jolt him awake, Sarah tried all her motherly wiles on her son, including crooning to him, and stroking his arms. Finally, in desperation to ease his suffering, she looked around, saw a shirt on the chair by the guitar, and determining that it was probably Ken’s, she snatched it up and took it over to the bed, where David lay curled in a muttering ball of misery. Deftly, she tucked the shirt close to his chest, where his arms were encircled, the soft cotton fabric resting against his face. Her son’s mouth stilled, and he moved his jaw slightly, his cheek brushing against the fabric. She marveled as he took a deep breath and settled, pulling the shirt closer to him and drifting into a deeper, quieter slumber.

 

Sarah watched for a long moment, then returned to her bed, her mind made up.

 

oooOOOooo   
  
   
 _Now, I really want to see you (hare rama)_  
Really want to be with you (hare rama)  
Really want to see you lord (aaah)  
But it takes so long, my lord (hallelujah)

_Hm, my lord (hallelujah)_  
My, my, my lord (hare krishna)  
My sweet lord (hare krishna)  
My sweet lord (krishna krishna)  
My lord (hare hare)  
Hm, hm (Gurur Brahma)  
Hm, hm (Gurur Vishnu)  
Hm, hm (Gurur Devo)  
Hm, hm (Maheshwara)  
My sweet lord (Gurur Sakshaat)  
My sweet lord (Parabrahma)  
My, my, my lord (Tasmayi Shree)  
My, my, my, my lord (Guruve Namah)  
My sweet lord (Hare Rama)  
  
  
 __

When Hutch finished the last few lines, he set his guitar down, acknowledging the smattering of applause, and exited the stage, heading for his small dressing room in the back of the bar.

 

The place was hot, everything smelled heavily of smoke, and he had a throbbing headache. The last thing he’d felt like doing was singing, yet singing he’d been doing for the last three hours. At least the audience had participated a bit, and he’d had an accompanist. That didn’t happen every night.

 

He pushed open the door to his dressing room, which would have been more aptly named ‘closet’, and walked in, setting his guitar carefully in the corner before stripping his reeking clothes off and pulling something fresher and more comfortable out of his bag. Glancing at himself in the large mirror, he noted the smudges under his eyes and the pallor of his skin. The recently developed pain in his stomach flared, and he pushed on it with his hands until it subsided.

 

Sitting down, he slipped his shoes back on and zipped up his bag. He put his guitar—the one he’d had to spring for, since he wasn’t about to go back and retrieve the old one—into its case and, shouldering the bag, left the dressing room, taking the back stairs out into the alleyway behind the bar.

 

The night air was cool and felt wonderful on Hutch’s hot skin as he made his way through the alley, behind the cleaners and out onto a side street that led to his tiny apartment.

 

He knew he’d have to return to the house eventually, but he wasn’t going to do it until he was absolutely sure that Starsky had left. He just couldn’t face him —not and have the guts to leave again. He’d checked with Huggy a couple of times, refusing to tell his friend where he was, and the answer was the same—Starsky remained in the house.

 

With his remaining trust fund money, Hutch arranged payment on the house and business for the past three months. He hoped that by the time he’d have to show up and arrange to sell them, Starsky would be gone. Hutch knew that sooner or later his friend would acknowledge the fact that he belonged in New York with Joanie and his baby. He didn’t think he would let too many months of the pregnancy slip by before he left. He calculated in his mind…she would have to be five or six months pregnant by now. Why was Starsky being so stubborn?

 

His stomach seized again, and Hutch had to stop and lean against a wall. He knew he should stop somewhere for dinner, since he didn’t have a thing in the small refrigerator at home, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to eat it. The past couple of days, everything he put into his mouth eventually turned into a burning volcano in the bottom of his stomach.

 

Hutch had been taking a lot of aspirin for his headaches, which were induced by the smoky atmosphere he’d been working in, and they were known to cause peptic ulcers. He figured he had one and should go to the doctor, but he wasn’t in any hurry; the pain made him remember he was alive.

 

He reached his apartment building and walked up the short flight of stairs. Noises of a domestic squabble drifted down the hall, intensifying his headache. Wrestling with the key, he was chagrined when the door popped open of its own accord. “Piece of shit,” he muttered in aggravation, and set his guitar and bag on the floor by the door. He looked up and straight into the intense blue eyes of David Starsky.

 

Gasping, Hutch almost fell backward through the door, but Starsky caught him by the arm.

 

“Man, the term ‘slumming it’ is too good for this place,” Starsky commented, as if they’d just parted an hour ago to run errands rather than separated permanently three months past.

 

“What are you doing here, Starsky?” Hutch asked, backing up against the wall.

 

“We’ve done it again, partner. Lost months together. Why are you doing this to me?” Starsky moved forward so that there was less than an inch between them.

 

“Why aren’t you in New York?” Hutch tried, plastering himself to the cheap faux paneling like a wet pancake.

 

Starsky put his hand by Hutch’s right ear and leaned on it. “Why do you keep running from me?”

 

Hutch blinked. “This game of Twenty Questions is getting old fast, Starsk. You know why I left. I wanna know why you’re here.”

 

“I’m here to find you, dummy. I told you I want to be with you.” His eyes never left Hutch’s.

 

Hutch surged forward, forcing Starsky to step back. “And  _I_ told  _you_ to go raise your child!”

Starsky sighed. “Do I look like some kinda puppet or something? You think just because you say so, I hafta go marry a girl I don’t love? I told you I didn’t want to leave you. I told you we’d work it out. But you ran! Hutch, why don’t you just come clean with me here? You resent the fact that I had amnesia and almost married Joanie.”

 

Hutch paced the room, agitatedly running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He stopped and swung around. “You know I don’t blame you for that! It wasn’t your fault.”

 

“Yeah, but you blame me anyway. For ignoring what I was remembering. Come on, Hutch. We don’t lie to each other—let’s don’t start now.”

 

Hutch stared at him for a full minute, then looked down at the floor. Rubbing a finger against his lips, he sighed.

 

“Okay, I guess so. It makes me angry when I think about it…because…well, because I feel like you wanted what was safe and okay. Subconsciously. So now you have the chance to have that, Starsky. And the family you always wanted.” Hutch took a step toward where Starsky stood, hands planted  on narrow hips.

 

“Think about how you are with Peter…so great,” Hutch said. “You’ll make such a great dad, Starsk.” His voice softened. “Give yourself the chance. And Joanie—you loved her once. You can again.”

 

“You’re so sure, Hutch,” Starsky said with wonder, his voice rising. “Have you ever thought about if the tables were turned? Would you want to go marry somebody? Huh? Think about that!” He turned to look out the grimy window at the street below.

 

Hutch sighed. “I wish you hadn’t come. It’s so hard to see you again, knowing…”

 

Starsky’s shoulders stiffened.

 

“Oh, Starsk—I wish things had been different.” Hutch sat down on his threadbare sofa. “I’m so tired.”

 

Starsky looked over his shoulder. “You need to stop running. You look terrible. Are you gonna come home?”

 

“Are you living in New York?” Hutch asked, eyebrow raised.

 

“I’m living at OUR HOUSE!” Starsky shouted, making it to the couch in two long strides and planting himself beside Hutch. “I want you to do something for me,” he said urgently. “I want you to tell me that we are in this for the long haul, just like any marriage, and the next time something happens, you aren’t gonna run off. It’s taken me this long to find you!”

 

“You’ve been looking for me all this time? Starsk—“

 

“Shut up, will you?” He grasped one of Hutch’s hands and looked into his eyes. “We have a commitment, Hutch. Maybe we didn’t get to do it in front of a preacher, but we have one. I don’t leave you and you don’t leave me. Got it?”

 

Hutch stared at him, not knowing where this was going. “We can’t raise your child as two gay men, Starsky. You know that. This conversation is moot.”

 

“Moot-smoot,” Starsky mumbled. “I’ll tell you what’s moot!” He waved his hand around the apartment. “This whole thing is moot! Maybe if you’d stuck around long enough to find out, you’d know that!”

 

Hutch frowned. His stomach was starting to roil again. “What the hell are you talking about?”

 

Starsky lowered his head. “Much as I’d rather you come back to me on your own terms, I guess I’m gonna have to spell it out for you. Not long after you left, my mother showed up at the door. After a heart-to-heart, she admitted to me that she’d told Joanie to lie to me about the pregnancy. Thought she was doing the best thing for me by gettin’ me out of this  _perverted_  relationship with you.”

Hutch’s mouth fell open, his eyes blue saucers. “Say that again.”

 

A small grin played around Starsky’s mouth. “I said, Joanie lied. She isn’t pregnant.”

 

Hutch’s body loosened and he shrank into the cushions. “Oh, my god.”

 

“Don’t you see, Hutch? If you’d stuck around, we woulda spent the past three months together insteada me trekking all over tryin’ to find you! Thank god you’d told me you liked Arizona, or I’d still be looking!”

 

He put a hand on Hutch’s leg. “And you don’t look so good, buddy. I’m worried about you. Please come home with me. I know we got some things to talk about, but let’s go home first, huh?”

 

Slowly, Hutch nodded. “I’d like that.”

 

Ooo

 

“Feelin’ better?” Starsky asked when they were about half-way home and Hutch had had a nap. Rain was falling fast and hard, pelting the windshield so that Starsky had to put his wipers on fast-speed. He’d already had to stop twice and sit beneath an underpass until a particularly strong shower let up. And his partner had slept on, looking thoroughly wrung out.

 

Hutch shrugged. “I guess maybe a little.”

 

Starsky sighed, watching the road. After a while, he said softly, “First thing I thought when you left was you’d gone off with your Spaniard.”

 

Hutch looked at him. “Tomás? Why would you think that?”

 

“Just did.” It was Starsky’s turn to shrug. Hutch put a hand on his thigh.

 

“Starsk, I don’t love Tomás. Just because I thought I couldn’t have you didn’t mean I wanted him. I didn’t want him when I was in Europe, so why would I want him now?”

 

Starsky seemed to relax a little into the seat, although the scowl remained on his face. “I was just jealous. Didn’t want him touchin’ you.”

 

After about twenty minutes more of driving in the hellish rain, Starsky pulled over at a truck stop. “Let’s go in for a bite. Maybe this rain’ll let up some.”

 

Hutch agreed, and they ran into the place, shaking off the water and finding a booth in the back. Starsky ordered a burger and onion rings, and Hutch asked for salad.

 

“Not very hungry?” Starsky asked.

 

“I dunno. Haven’t been eating very well. Just thought a salad would do me good.”

 

“Well, you can have some of my onion rings if you want,” Starsky offered, taking a long look at his partner, both to drink in his presence and to note how exhausted and sickly he looked. “Hutch, are you all right?”

 

“What do you mean?” Hutch asked, looking up from the napkin he was listlessly tearing into pieces.

 

“You been sick?”

“I’m sorry, Starsky, I’m just tired.” Hutch put the napkin down and stared out the window at the driving rain. “I’ve had some headaches and the aspirin is upsetting my stomach, so I guess I haven’t been eating well.” He reached over and took Starsky’s hand, after making sure no one was looking. “I’ve really missed you. I can’t believe this is happening. I thought I’d never see you again.”

 

Starsky shook his head. “It would’ve happened anyway, pal, whether you want to believe it or not. I would’ve found you and made you see that things could’ve worked out, even if I was going to be a father. There’s no way in hell I’m giving up on us.”

 

Hutch looked at him in wonder, the entire evening feeling like a dream. He just couldn’t wrap his head around it. One day he’s slogging through his crappy existence, singing at that hellish bar and living in that dump, and the next his partner appears like an angel and tells him all their troubles are over. His head was pounding and his stomach was on fire…could he be hallucinating? Hesitantly, he reached over and poked Starsky on the arm.

 

“What’re you doin’?” Starsky asked, frowning.

 

“Um, nothing.” Hutch sat back and watched the rain some more while Starsky studied him with concern. “Starsky…is any part of you  _disappointed_ that you aren’t going to have a baby?”

 

His partner watched him from under hooded lids. “No, Hutch. Not even a tiny piece of me is disappointed. Believe me?”

 

Hutch looked into those deep blue eyes he knew so well, deliberating. After a moment he said, “Yeah. I believe you.” And smiled.

 

After they’d eaten and gotten back on the road, Hutch fell asleep again. Starsky had to keep his eyes on the flooding pavement, but every now and then he’d take a peek at his partner, wondering if he just needed a good, long rest. He definitely wasn’t acting right. Turning on the radio, he caught a weather report that said that, due to an approaching hurricane, there was extreme flooding in the area. Everyone was urged to stay off the roads.

 

“Terrific,” Starsky muttered.

 

The next time Hutch awoke, they were pulling into their long, winding driveway, which was starting to flood due to the rising creek that bordered their property. Trees were swaying in the wind, and some lighter branches had already snapped off and littered the lawn.

 

“I need to tell you something,” Starsky said as they prepared to get out of the car with Hutch’s bag and guitar.

 

“What’s that?” Hutch asked. Just then, the front door flew open to reveal Sarah Starsky standing in the foyer, motioning them to hurry and come inside and out of the weather.

 

“That,” Starsky said in a low voice. “She’s been here with me the whole time. Wouldn’t leave ‘til I found you.”

 

Hutch had no choice but to run through the pelting water and into the house, but when faced with Sarah Starsky’s small, formidable figure, he had the sudden, hysterical urge to turn and run back out into the deluge.

 

She looked up into his face, her small scowl breaking into a smile of delight that took Hutch unawares. “Ken, I am so glad you are home,” she exclaimed, embracing him. “I’ve been very worried about you, and so has David. And I’m afraid it’s all my fault. Can you forgive me?”

 

Starsky seemed to be enjoying this exchange immensely. Hutch looked to him for help, and he took hold of the blond’s arm and drug him past his mother and into the bedroom. “Ma, Hutch’s had a rough time. Let’s let him clean up first.” Nudging Hutch through the bathroom door, Starsky followed with his things. “Why don’t you take a shower, Hutch. Get the grime off ya. Smells like Ma’s got dinner under control.”

 

Starsky had phoned his mother from the truck stop, letting her know when they’d be in, and she’d been anxious ever since.

 

“This weather is terrible, Dave! You shouldn’t have left tonight,” She admonished from the bedroom door.

 

“You should’ve seen where he was living, Ma. No way we were staying there.”

 

“Well, I’m glad you’re back. Change out of those wet clothes. And it’s pot roast,” she said proudly when she noticed him sniffing the air appreciatively.

 

“Sounds great. I don’t think Hutch’s had a decent meal since the day he left.” His countenance fell a bit at that, and Sarah patted his arm. “Don’t worry. There’s nothing a little t.l.c. won’t take care of. I’m glad you found him, sweetheart.”

 

“Me, too, Ma.” Starsky ran a hand through his dark curls. “Thought I never would.”

 

“It was fate. Now go change.”

 

Starsky obeyed. Just as he’d finished, Hutch staggered out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his middle.

 

“Hutch, you sure you’re feeling okay?”

 

“Think maybe I have an ulcer,” Hutch said, rubbing his stomach. He sat on the edge of the bed. Starsky riffled through the closet and handed Hutch some clothes. “We’ll have to get you to a doctor, then. You haven’t been takin’ care of yourself. I wasn’t either, ‘til Ma showed up.”

 

Hutch frowned. “So…why’s she still here again?”

“She wanted to make sure you got home. She’s feeling guilty, I guess.” He moved toward Hutch, running his hand through his hair. “Don’t worry, buddy, we’ll have some alone time soon. I want it, too.”

 

Hutch nodded, smiled a little, and began dressing.

 

In the middle of a sumptuous meal of pot roast and vegetables, Hutch suddenly lurched from the table, ran into the bathroom, and vomited it all up.

 

Mother and son looked at each other in surprise. Starsky stood and went down the hall, finding Hutch at the sink washing his mouth out.

 

“You okay?” he asked.

 

“Starsky---I just threw up your mother’s dinner!” Hutch exclaimed, aghast, before doubling over in pain.

 

“Hutch!” Starsky put his arm around him and led him toward the bed. “Here, lie down.” He pulled the comforter back and helped Hutch climb in.

 

“Everything all right?” Sarah asked from the doorway.

 

“His stomach’s really hurtin’,” Starsky answered worriedly.

 

“It started way before dinner,” Hutch assured her. “The meal was delicious!”

 

Sarah couldn’t help but smile at Hutch’s attempts not to insult his ‘mother-in-law’. She came to stand beside him. Bending down, she felt his forehead and cheeks with the back of her hand.

 

“You feel hot,” she said. “Dave, have you got a thermometer?”

 

Starsky went to the bathroom to get it.

 

“How long has your stomach been hurting like this, Ken?” Sarah asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing the hair out of his eyes. Hutch seemed discomfited by the attention. He wasn’t used to motherly concern-- except from his partner, of course.

 

“A few days. On and off. Not this severe, though.” Hutch squeezed his eyes shut as another pain assaulted his abdomen.

 

Starsky appeared and handed his mother the thermometer, which she promptly stuck under Hutch’s tongue. “Don’t talk,” she told him when he tried to say something. “You’ll ruin the reading.” She patted his arm. After a suitable amount of time, she took the thermometer out and looked at it. “104”, she murmured. “That’s high.” She looked at Dave, whose worried eyes were darting between her and the man in the bed.

 

“Think it’s appendicitis?” he asked.

 

“Where’s the pain located, Ken?” Sarah asked him.

 

He pointed to his left side.

 

“Appendix is on the right,” Sarah said. “I don’t know…could just be a bug. Don’t worry, Dave. Let’s let him get some sleep.”

 

Starsky turned off the lamp. The rain was driving hard against the roof. “Sounds like a hundred squirrels doing the congo,” he joked, stroking Hutch’s head. “Think you can sleep in all that racket?”

 

Hutch’s eyes were already closing. “Yeah…” he said, and immediately started to snore. Starsky smiled widely and went back to the dinner table to finish his meal.

 

“That’s a high temp, isn’t it?” he asked his mother around a bite of potato.

 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she scolded. “Yes, it is. We’ll have to watch it.”

 

“Do you think maybe we should take him to the emergency room?”

 

Sarah glanced out the window. “I hate to say it, honey, but I don’t think that’s a possibility. The driveway is flooded.”

 

Starsky sat up straight, a panicky feeling taking hold in his gut.

 

“Well, what are we gonna do? What if his appendix bursts?”

 

“I told you, I don’t think it’s that. Wrong side. Stop worrying so much. I nursed you and Nicky through plenty of illnesses. It’ll be all right.”

 

Later, as the rain continued to pour down and the creek was encroaching on the lawn, Starsky lay beside his partner in bed and watched him breathe. In and out. In and out. In and out. Around midnight, his mother appeared in the doorway.

 

“How’s he doing?” she asked, feeling a bit strange seeing her son in bed with a man but trying valiantly to hide it.

 

“He’s really hot, Ma,” Starsky said quietly. He’d been putting cool cloths on Hutch’s forehead, but he didn’t feel like his fever had lessened. Sarah brought the chair up close to the bed and sat down on Hutch’s side. The blond was restless and mumbling in his sleep. She put her hand to his cheek. He was indeed very hot.

 

“Let’s get some of these covers off of him,” she suggested, and together they pulled the comforter down. “A light sheet will do.” Taking the rag, she dipped it in the bowl of cool water sitting by the bed and wrung it out. She then proceeded to dab at Hutch’s neck and chest.

 

“S-starsky…” Hutch muttered, his eyes half-opening.

 

“I’m right here,” Starsky said, taking his hand and squeezing it.

 

He shuddered. “mm cold.”

 

“Cold? Doncha mean hot?”

 

“He’s got the chills,” Sarah explained. “Do you have any Tylenol?”

 

Starsky got up to get some, along with a glass of water and a straw.

 

“Here, buddy,” he said as he gently raised Hutch’s head off the bed. “Take these pills; they’ll make ya feel better.”

 

Hutch obediently put the pills in his mouth and then drank from the straw, swallowing them with the water. Starsky lowered him back down on the bed before climbing up beside him again.

 

“Dobey called us in,” Hutch said weakly after a moment.

 

“Oh, yeah?” Starsky humored him. “Well, that’s too bad. We have the day off. You rest, partner.” He looked worriedly at his mother. “People get delirious when their fever’s real high, right?”

 

She nodded. “It’ll break soon.” She kept wiping his chest and arms with the cool water. Outside the rain pelted the window panes and the wind howled.

 

“Starsky!” Hutch called out plaintively, and Starsky rubbed the hair back from his hot forehead.

 

“I’m right here. Not going anywhere, Babe.”

 

Hutch’s eyes opened wide, but were unseeing. He kept calling out for his partner until Starsky sat up and pulled him half onto his lap, holding him to his chest and rocking. “Shhh…s’alright. I’m right here. Don’t worry, Hutch, everything’s gonna be fine. Go to sleep, buddy.” Hutch clutched at him, but settled a bit.

 

Sarah was touched by the scene. The love she saw between her son and his partner was palpable in the darkened room, and it made her feel like weeping. She busied herself with the cloth and the water, then settled back into the chair. She was worried about Ken, but she didn’t want Dave worrying anymore than he had to. If the fever didn’t break soon, things could get dangerous, and there was no way an ambulance would be able to get through this flood.

 

She’d made her peace with her son about her lie to him, and she’d determinedly stayed at his home while he searched for his partner, vowing that once he had him back, she would do her darndest to make amends before returning home to New York. She had spoken to Joanie on the phone, apologizing to her, too, for leading her into a lie. Joanie had never been completely happy about doing it, but Sarah had convinced her that it was the best thing for Dave in the long run. Although Starsky had forgiven his mother, he had refused to speak with Joanie.

 

 

Hutch moaned, doubling up in Starsky’s lap. “H-hurts, Starsk.”

 

Starsky put his hand on Hutch’s firm stomach and rubbed soothingly, murmuring in the blonde’s ear.

 

“Huggy’ll know,” Hutch said after a moment. “He’ll lead us to him.”

 

Starsky kept rocking him.

 

“Don’t shoot!” Hutch suddenly shouted, shocking Sarah out of her seat. Starsky held him, keeping him from lurching out of the bed. “It’s okay, Hutch, nobody’s gonna shoot. Rest now.” Hutch shuddered violently. A short time later, he broke into a sweat, and Sarah sighed with relief.

 

“Fever’s breaking,” she told her son.

 

“Thank god,” Starsky said reverently. He scooted down in the bed, pulling Hutch into his arms. “Go on to bed now, Ma. I’ll handle it from here.”

 

Seeing the blond head nestled on her son’s dark shoulder, Sarah knew that he would.

 

Oooooooooooooooo

 

Diverticulitis. Starsky had never even heard of it before. Something about little sacs in the large intestine that get inflamed and infected, possibly from Hutch’s sudden turn from healthy eating to unhealthy eating during his time in Phoenix. Hutch had taken a round of antibiotics and now felt right as rain.

 

Starsky’s mother had had a long talk with Hutch, again apologizing for her behavior and promising they’d have her full support from then on. It warmed Starsky’s heart to have his mother on their side, and he could tell that Hutch was happy about it, too, particularly since Sarah Starsky now treated him like a son. Although he could tell it embarrassed his partner to be coddled, and even scolded at times, he could also see that he was eating it up. She went home a week after Hutch came home, and then began a time of healing the relationship between the two men.

 

 

After years of knowing one another so intimately, it didn’t take long for them to work through things. Hutch had to come to terms with Starsky’s actions during his time of amnesia, and Starsky had to forgive himself for what he had done. Hutch promised not to bolt the next time they hit a snag in the road, no matter how large it seemed, and Starsky let go of his jealousy of Tomás.

 

This last point was put to the test one evening when Huggy Bear came to dinner with a date. Both Starsky and Hutch were startled speechless to find that his date was Tomás Vega.

 

The two men appeared to be very wrapped up in one another.

 

“I convinced Tomás that it would behoove him to come back to California for a while, so that I could show him the sights.” The lanky man looked affectionately at the handsome Spaniard, who immediately leaned in for a long, tongue-tangling kiss that made Starsky and Hutch feel like voyeurs in their own living room.

 

“I hope,” Huggy continued when they had pulled apart, “this isn’t a problem for us.” He looked at Hutch.

 

“Er, no! No, no. Definitely not. I’m very happy for the two of you,” Hutch assured him.

 

Once Starsky had witnessed the kiss, every last remnant of jealousy melted away. He was the perfect host, and the epitome of hospitality to Tomás. The entire evening was a bit surreal, and when Huggy and Tomás left, Starsky and Hutch stood for a long time staring after their tail lights before going back inside.

 

“Well,  _that_ was the last thing I expected!” Hutch finally exclaimed, shutting the front door behind them.

 

“Do you mind?” Starsky asked his partner.

 

“What? No! No. But it seems a bit odd…for Tomás to go from me to…Huggy. Don’t you think?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Starsky said casually, pulling Hutch into an embrace. “You remind me quite a bit of each other.”

 

Hutch pulled back to look into his partner’s laughing eyes. “So I guess that means you’re attracted to Huggy…”

 

Starsky lost his smile.

 

Hutch laughed and kissed him thoroughly.

 

_finis_

 

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